


A Moonbeam in Your Hand

by turtlebook



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby is not a nun, Alternate Universe - The Sound of Music Fusion, Dad!Kane, Delinquents, F/M, Kid Fic, Slow Burn, historical setting, the hills are alive with the sound of simmering sexual tension, there is no singing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-02 23:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 74,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11519535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlebook/pseuds/turtlebook
Summary: Austria, 1937. Recently widowed Abigail Griffin, still grieving the loss of her husband, needs a job that will allow her to support herself and her daughter. Captain Marcus von Kane needs a tutor for his seven adopted children, and can only hope the next one he hires will last longer than a week.When Abby and Clarke arrive at the grand house on the outskirts of Salzburg it is uncertain who will present the greater challenge - these unwelcoming children or their strict authoritarian father. However, Abby is soon able to win over her new charges, just as they begin to win her over in return. And as for the Captain, it is only a matter of time before he too comes to see her value to his family. In more ways than one...





	1. Chapter 1

Abby and Clarke Griffin stood on the doorstep of the imposing Kane villa, located on the bank of the river Salzach just outside of Salzburg. The man who had delivered them here along with their cases and trunks and two unwieldy bicycles had accepted his payment and driven off with a wave out the window of his truck.

Now the two women contemplated what was to be their new home for the foreseeable future. 

Standing side by side, the differences and similarities between them were easily assessed. One at the tender age of 14, the other a respectable 37, they were both of rather diminutive height but where the elder was slight, the younger had the healthy, apple-cheeked stature so prized in this part of the world. They both wore their hair in a single neat braid, one the colour of honey, the other golden flax. 

The most striking similarity was this: both women were recently bereft but unbowed by their grief. They had borne the prospect of poverty and homelessness with pragmatism, and now faced the solution to both problems the same way.

"How bad can it be?" Clarke said as she looked up at the grand abode. 

"I think you mean, how bad can _I_ be," her mother replied.

"You've taught before."

"University students. These are children."

"You've taught me, I wasn't that bad."

"No, not that bad." With a smile, she ran a hand down Clarke's braid, then shrugged. "Well, if it's no good here, we can always leave."

"And go where?"

Abby sighed. The answer to that question was not a simple one. 

Her husband, Jakob Griffin, had taught engineering at the University of Salzburg for over a decade. Once he was gone the institution that had been his family's home for so long suddenly had no place for them. Out of compassion for the grieving widow and child they had been permitted to stay in their small cottage, rented by the university to tenured professors, until the end of the school year. Now summer was almost upon them and their time was up.

Mother and daughter had needed to find somewhere else to live, and the small salary Abby was earning working in the university's Biology department was simply not enough to support them in the long term. Alternative arrangements had needed to be made.

And so here they were.

"Well, perhaps we could join a convent," Abby said, before leaning over to ring the doorbell. 

"I don't think they let mothers take vows," Clarke hissed while the sound echoed ominously behind the doors.

"Oh, it's the church, they have to take anyone, don't they?"

"They shouldn't take you. You'd be a terrible nun." Along with this dour pronouncement, Clarke gave her mother the kind of condemning look only a teenager could. 

And so Abby was laughing when the doors swung open and Captain Marcus von Kane laid eyes on her for the first time.

He, who expected nothing less than perfect decorum and restraint from those beneath him, was unimpressed.

She, feeling immediately that she had been assessed and found wanting, was unrepentant.

It was not an ideal first impression on either side, but it was an accurate foretelling of the nature of their working relationship from this point on.

\---

  
Abby had learned little about her new employer before arriving here and meeting him in person.

The first thing she discovered about Captain von Kane from the man himself was that he was a strict disciplinarian. That he was strict was not particularly noteworthy; many parents were, and the Captain was a military man besides so perhaps this might be expected. 

But most parents, even of the strict variety, didn't summon their children with a whistle as if they were aboard a ship. They did not have them march in formation to the accompanying piercing tones of said whistle all the way down the grand staircase to stand at attention in the middle of the foyer, ready for inspection. 

The Griffins had employed a positively Bohemian child-rearing style in comparison. Standing at her mother's side, Clarke's jaw dropped, gaping at this show of military discipline from a group of children ranging in age from a tall young man who looked a few years older than Clarke to a very small boy who couldn't have been more than five or six.

Where Clarke's mouth had fallen open, Abby managed to keep hers closed at least, but she was no less struck by this bizarre display. It was only when the Captain dropped his whistle and said, with a note of exasperation, "Where is Raven?" that she realised there were only six of the reported seven Kane children present.

The heads of all present turned suddenly as a faint thumping sound approached, and from one of the corridors off either side of the foyer appeared a girl around Clarke's age. The thumping was a cane, which she used to walk, and she appeared to not mind at all that everyone was waiting for her - or perhaps she hadn't even noticed. She held a book aloft with one hand and kept her nose buried in it right up until she took her place in line. Then Captain von Kane blew a sharp note on his whistle and she jumped slightly, looked up to find all eyes upon her, and hastily shut the book and hid it behind her back. 

Abby liked her immediately. 

The Captain, now that he had a complete row of seven children, conducted his inspection. He sauntered back and forth in front of them, running a critical eye over each one, tugging at an uneven necktie, flicking at one of the girl's untidy pigtails and tutting in displeasure, tapping a boy's chest to make him stand up straighter.

They all bore it as if this was an everyday occurrence, which, for all she knew, it was.

Finally, the Captain addressed them. "This is your new tutor, Frau Griffin. As I sound your signals you will step forward and give your name. You, Frau Griffin, will listen carefully, learn their signals so that you can call them when you want them."

And he proceeded to lift the whistle once more and produce a series of short signals, each one slightly different, prompting the children each in turn down the line.

At the first signal the oldest boy stepped smartly forward and announced his name: "Bellamy!"

He stepped back into line, and then it was the turn of the girl next to him, which was Raven. Although at this point she hardly needed further introduction, and the brace on her leg meant her movements were not as crisply regimental as the others', still she didn't falter as she stepped forward to declare herself as Bellamy had done. 

As soon as Raven had stepped back there was another whistle sound and the next child in line came forward, a boy named John, and then after him was Nathan, and then Harper, and Octavia, and last of all was Monty.

While all of this was going on she felt Clarke inch closer and grab hold of her sleeve. Abby dared not look over at her. She knew her daughter's reaction must be no less appalled than her own, and she was afraid if they made eye contact it might spell disaster. One of them would surely laugh. 

It was simply so strange. She had known from his title, and the little information Professor Jaha had provided her with, that Kane was a military man, but he apparently treated his family more like a troop of soldiers than children.

And as for the children themselves - all so neatly turned out in their matching sailor uniforms, each one standing perfectly at attention, waiting on the next order from their Captain. What on earth was she meant to do with children like this? Raven, the girl with the book, at least seemed to have more of an independent spirit, but the rest of them?

She had been doubting her ability to be a private tutor to seven children from the start. Now the prospect seemed positively daunting. What would they - and their _father_ \- expect from her? 

The answer came in the form of a whistle - another one, which the Captain presented to her and instructed her to use which was, honestly, the most absurd thing she had heard yet.

She looked at the whistle in his hand, then back up at Captain von Kane, not quite able to believe he was serious. But apparently he was. 

She took a step back before he became any more insistent about her taking the thing. "I don't think I'll need a whistle, Captain, if I want the children I'll just call them."

Captain von Kane interrupted her objection with a lengthy explanation about maintaining discipline and order and the proper running of a large household and Abby found herself more interested in what was going on behind the Captain's back. Without his sharp eyes upon them, the children seemed more like, well, children.

The two middle-sized boys started jostling each other with their elbows, knocking into Raven who rolled her eyes at them. One of the girls - Harper? Learning all of these names was going to be a chore. Possibly-Harper yawned, looking bored. The smaller, dark-haired girl next to her in line was peering into the pocket of her pinafore, the contents of which appeared to be moving - Abby suspected a lizard, or possibly a mouse. The little boy on the end, who she remembered was called Monty, scratched his knee and then when he saw Abby watching he smiled at her. 

And they were all of them stealing glances at Abby and Clarke - especially Clarke, which was only natural. They must have had tutors before but she doubted many had brought children of their own with them. This was to be a new arrangement for all of them.

They were just normal children after all, she decided at that point, not so intimidating. Something in Abby relaxed a bit at this realisation - and then she realised what Captain von Kane was saying.

"Now, when I want you, Frau Griffin, this is what you will hear." He blew a short series of notes. "Do you need me to repeat it?"

"Good heavens, no."

"Good. Now -"

"No, I mean - _no_. No. Captain, you can't actually think... I'm not going to answer to a whistle. I'm not a dog. Or one of your children."

Kane's eyebrows lifted, apparently bemused at the very idea she would disagree with him. "I see."

"If you want to speak to me you can -"

"Shout for you? No. There is no shouting permitted in this house for any reason."

"I'm sure that whistle is far louder than anyone could shout."

His jaw snapped shut as he stared at her. She assumed no one had ever pointed that out to him before. 

After regarding her for a moment longer he turned on his heel and began striding away. "Come this way, Frau Griffin."

"Why?"

He stopped and looked back at her, exasperated to again meet with something other than automatic compliance. "As you suggested - I want to speak to you. You see how the whistle would have been simpler?"

"What about Clarke?"

His condescending gaze transferred to the girl at Abby's side who was still watching all of this with wide eyes. "Bellamy," he said, "and the rest of you, take Clarke and show her around the house while I speak with Frau Griffin."

Clarke looked at her mother, who nodded and squeezed her elbow, encouraging her to go. Though knowing Clarke she was more concerned about what her mother was walking into than being left alone with a group of strange children.

Abby followed the Captain as he strode away down a corridor to a door at the end, which he opened and then stood waiting for her to enter. She paused before crossing the threshold, looking back down the hall towards the foyer where the children, released from supervision, had immediately crowded around Clarke and begun peppering her with questions. Another child might have been intimidated with such treatment, but Clarke was bearing it well. One thing her daughter had never lacked was self-assurance.

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and she turned to see Captain von Kane regarding her impatiently.

She went in and found herself in what must be his study. It was an unremarkable room, decorated simply, though the dark wood furnishings were rather austere. It was also spotlessly tidy. This did not surprise her.

The Captain closed the door and sat behind his desk and she sat opposite him on a hard-backed chair. She felt immediately as if she were back in school, having been called to the headmaster's office.

"Now, Frau Griffin," the Captain began.

"Doctor."

He blinked. "Doctor?"

"Yes, 'doctor'." She didn't usually insist on it outside of the university, where it was more usual to only hear medical doctors called that. But she suddenly felt it was important that Captain von Kane be reminded he wasn't the only one here with a title. "It's Dr Griffin. You've seen my references; I achieved my doctorate in 1925, and my _habilitation_ in 1929, and am fully qualified to teach biological sciences at university level."

He listened to this, and then sat back in his chair. "So why don't you do that? Teach at university."

"I thought... Professor Jaha would have explained my situation to you. I'm aware you're hiring me largely on his recommendation." 

"I am aware that your husband died, for which you have my condolences. Yes, Thelonius did tell me you were looking for a teaching position, specialising in the sciences, and that you would be a capable tutor for my children. With your qualifications - the tutors I have hired previously have come from different circumstances."

She hesitated. She was unsure how much of her background he expected her to relate, or how much she was willing to share. "I taught at the university as a _privatdozentin_ for years, but never at full wage. Few women are offered the more prestigious or financially secure positions. It never mattered so much when - before. My husband, he was a tenured professor. He always supported us perfectly well." She swallowed with difficulty. She was not going to get upset. The facts were simply the facts. "I can be a capable tutor for your children, Captain."

He regarded her silently for a moment. She couldn't detect much pity in his face, for which she was grateful. She didn't want or need pity; she needed to work.

"Well, that is to be determined. The servants will have taken your things up to your rooms. Your daughter's room is beside your own."

"Oh. Thank you. Captain, I... well I do have to also thank you for allowing me to bring her with me. It's hardly a usual sort of arrangement - although it's my first time as a private tutor, I suppose I'm not the best judge. I have to assume the special accommodation was partly out of regard for Professor Jaha - I know he considers you a good friend."

He seemed uncomfortable at her gratitude, so he side-stepped it completely. "I don't know what else you were supposed to do with your daughter, if not bring her with you. I'm not averse to children, that much should be plain."

"I suppose it is."

"As to Clarke - what of her schooling? Do you intend to teach her along with the others?"

"Clarke? I thought - I intended to keep her at her school in town."

"It's a day school?"

"Yes, there isn't money for boarding her somewhere."

"No, I see. It's a long way from here to town every day."

"She has her bicycle."

"Still a long way for a young girl, and when winter comes? I see you haven't thought this through. Your daughter will attend lessons here, she can easily be included along with the others."

She baulked internally at the casual way he had decided what was best for her own daughter, dismissing her own judgement in the process. But she couldn't deny it was surely better for Clarke not to have to travel so far everyday if she could continue her schooling here, and Captain von Kane was being generous in allowing it. He was employing Abby to teach his own children, not to devote any of that attention to someone else.

Even as all of this ran through her head she had to resist the urge to argue with him just on principle. She disliked that superior expression on his face. But she knew she shouldn't, and for now she held her tongue.

Being a widow had been humbling in so many ways; she didn't care for it at all. 

"Thank you, Captain. I'm sure Clarke will be grateful as well. She's a well-behaved girl, she won't cause any disruption to the others."

He nodded. "How is her Latin?"

"Pardon?"

"Her Latin."

"She does well in all of her classes."

"I'll assess that for myself in the morning."

"You will?"

"Yes." To her surprise he went on to explain: "I drill the older children - which will include Clarke - in their Latin, History, and Literature studies for two hours every morning. I haven't found anyone capable of overseeing this part of their education to a suitably high standard. I doubt a scientist such as yourself has any degree of expertise in the humanities, though I at least trust you can supervise the younger ones with their grammar workbooks."

"I'll certainly do my best." If he noticed her dry tone he didn't react to it. 

"You'll find the lesson schedule in the schoolroom. In the afternoons you'll be responsible for all of the children, focusing on Mathematics, Science, and Geography."

"Geography?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," she lied. "I'm sure they have textbooks."

"They have an atlas. Frau Griffin, if you -"

" _Doctor_ Griffin."

They were interrupted as a herd of noisy children went stampeding past the French doors that led out onto a wide terrace. Abby assumed Clarke was one of them, though couldn't be sure, there were that many of them.

She caught the hint of a fond expression on Captain von Kane's face as he watched them go by. He seemed such a cold, imposing man, but that look softened his aristocratic features so that for a moment he was almost pleasant to behold. 

Objectively speaking, he was actually rather a handsome man - was the thought that crossed her mind at the exact moment Kane turned and said: "Do you have any questions?"

Thankfully she had several. "Why are you hiring a tutor now, when it's so close to summer?"

"I don't see what difference it makes, the time of year." 

"But the school year is just finishing. What about their holidays?"

"One benefit of having the children schooled privately, at home, is that they will not waste weeks of every year not doing anything of value, and learning nothing."

"They don't get any sort of break?"

"Yes, there are no lessons on Sundays, although the children are expected to use their free time productively, in reading, chores, or physical exercise outdoors."

"That doesn't sound much like free time, then. When do they have time to play, and enjoy themselves?"

"As you are here to educate them, I hardly think that is a matter for your concern. Do you have any other questions?" he said, signalling that the previous avenue of discussion was closed.

"Yes. How on earth did you end up with so many? Children, I mean."

His expression was once again closed off. "I meant questions regarding your position here."

"The children are the reason for my position here. And I mean... _seven_."

"Is it so strange?"

She shrugged. "It was quite a lot of trouble ending up with one, and that happened the regular way."

He coughed.

"I've been told you never married," she said.

"No."

"I'm sorry for prying. They'll be my pupils; my daughter and I will be living here with them, working closely with them every day. I feel I should have some idea of the situation."

"The situation is that they are my children - not the regular way, but mine all the same. Bellamy, the eldest, and Octavia, she's the youngest girl, those two are brother and sister. They are also distant relations of mine, though I never met their mother before she died. They were first; Octavia was still a baby when she and Bellamy came here. The other five children I've taken in over the years for one reason or another. I had the room, and they needed homes and... well." 

"That's very admirable." 

"I didn't do it for the admiration of others."

"That's not what I said. Honestly, most men collect stamps."

"And precisely what do you mean by that?"

"You're a wealthy man, independently wealthy I imagine, and you are retired from your military career. So you have a lot of money and free time, and instead of merely wasting it on meaningless things, you've given seven orphans a home and family. Even if you have some odd ideas about raising them -"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well this business with the whistle..." She trailed off as he looked increasingly offended and she realised this might not be the best time to express such opinions.

"The children can be challenging, Frau - Doctor. They require structure and discipline. They do what I say; you may not find them so biddable."

"I think we will manage to get along just fine," she said with more confidence than she felt.

"That we shall see, Doctor." He got to his feet then, and she rose as well, expecting to be dismissed. "Dinner will be served in half an hour."

"Oh. Are we expected to be there?"

"You are not a servant. Unless you'd prefer to eat with the cook and her husband in the kitchen?"

"I hadn't really thought about it."

He nodded, as if this answer didn't surprise him. "The children should get to know you a little before beginning their lessons with you tomorrow. You and Clarke will dine with us."

She didn't much care for his imperious manner. She half expected him to blow that ridiculous whistle at her. But she wasn't in a position to argue - and she would simply have to remind herself of that as often as necessary in order to not be dismissed from this job almost as soon as she began it.

Speaking of the whistle - the Captain went to open the terrace door and the piercing shriek of the thing must have been heard all the way in Vienna.

It was less than a minute before the children came filing inside in an orderly fashion - which was how they seemed to do everything, at least when their father was watching. She counted this time, and the seven Kane children were all accounted for. Clarke brought up the rear, arriving several steps behind the others. She was a bit red in the face and breathless, as if she'd been running to catch up. None of the others looked as if they were in a hurry.

Abby didn't have a chance to ask Clarke about it as they were sent upstairs with the children to prepare for dinner and there always seemed to be several of them around, hovering in the doorway, asking the occasional question but mostly just watching in a manner that felt more judgemental, assessing, than mere idle curiosity. They smiled and spoke politely enough, but Abby didn't get an impression of friendliness from any of them.

She was their new tutor, of course, come to make them learn. Perhaps they simply weren't the studious sort.

\---

  
Clarke came to her room that night after dinner, already prepared for bed in her nightgown.

It was quite a nice room, and Clarke's next door was a little smaller, but not by much. It wouldn't have been unreasonable for Kane to stick them both up in the attic like servants. But according to the Captain, a tutor didn't count as a servant.

Out in the hallway there were the sounds of the girls - Raven and the two little ones whose names Abby had not yet managed to learn - readying themselves for bed. The boys of the family had rooms in some other part of the large house, and she supposed a male tutor would have been housed nearer to them.

"What was all that about the pine cone?" Clarke said once she had settled herself on the bed with her feet tucked under the covers.

The pine cone. It was sitting by Abby's elbow on the dressing table now as she sat and undid her braid. "It was on my chair when I sat down," she said, mouth twisting wryly as she looked at Clarke in the mirror.

Clarke's eyes widened as she quickly understood. "So you made all of that up?"

Abby had found herself standing at the head of the table, with a rather spiky, painful pine cone in her hand, and everyone staring at her. And when Captain von Kane had asked what the matter was she had to think quickly to come up with an explanation. So she had claimed the pine cone was hers, and she had brought it to dinner as a conversational piece - which was absurd, of course, and made several of the children hide smirks behind their hands.

But they didn't know who they were dealing with - Abby Griffin wasn't going to be shown up by some silly, misbehaving little children. She had dealt with the academic board for years; this was nothing.

"You said the children should get to know me, Captain," she had said, "but eating with strangers can be so awkward, and it would be horrible if we had nothing to talk about. But this, and I'm sure all of the children would agree, is an excellent topic of discussion. You'd be especially interested in its origin, I think."

She looked around the long table at their faces and they all looked rather wary, dreading what she might say next. But she hadn't betrayed their prank. Instead, she had ended up giving an impromptu lecture on arboreal propagation that went on over the course of almost the entire meal. Botany wasn't her speciality but she found once she had started there was no end of interesting - to her mind they were interesting; her audience did not seem to agree - facts on the subject she could impart. By the time she wound down all of the children's eyes, including Clarke's, had long since glazed over and Captain von Kane was looking at her like she had two heads. 

With all of that talking she didn't manage to eat very much of her dinner. But she was fairly sure there wouldn't be anything peculiar or painful on her chair the next time she sat on it.

Abby glanced around the room, trying to remember if she had packed her hairbrush in the trunk or the suitcase. Her eyes landed back on Clarke, who was looking amused at her explanation. She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. "I didn't know what else to do. I realised I shouldn't make a fuss, but then I thought - since I'm here to teach them, they may as well have their first lesson a little early."

"It was very odd, but now I know why, I'm glad you did," Clarke said with a grim smile that didn't escape Abby's notice. 

"What did they do to you?"

"Oh..." She looked aside as if debating whether to tell.

"When they showed you around this afternoon?"

"Well, yes. They showed me the greenhouse, which was very nice, until they locked me inside. They all ran off and I might still be there except a boy came along the path and heard me yelling and let me out."

"A boy?"

"He was a messenger, I'm not sure what he was doing in the garden, looking for whoever he needed to deliver a message to, I suppose. I'm just glad he was there."

"We'll tell Captain von Kane."

"No don't, it was just a silly trick."

"Like the pine cone on my chair."

Clarke smiled gamely and said, "Maybe they'll be all right once we get to know them. Maybe they aren't really a pack of horrible brats. They just seem that way right now."

Abby stood and moved over to sit beside her on the bed, stroking her loose hair back from her face. "I'm sorry this is where we ended up. I wish we could leave, but I think we have to at least try it for a little while."

"Oh, don't worry. We aren't going to let them beat us."

She drew Clarke into a hug that she likely needed far less than her mother at that moment. 

It hadn't been easy for either of them in the months since losing one third of their little family. And Clarke was so young - she hated that her daughter had to be so strong. And yet Abby was thankful that she was. She'd rarely been so grateful for her daughter's resilience. But then, she'd never needed it so much before.

Later, after finishing her unpacking, and taking a quick bath in the bathroom shared amongst all of the girls down the hall, Abby climbed into bed to spend her first night in what would be home for some time if things worked out.

She turned out the lamp and settled down under the covers, trying not to miss too terribly her own bed, the one she had shared with Jakob for so many years in their cosy little house.

Enough time had passed that sometimes, like now, she was able to indulge in thoughts of her husband without tears. There was the pain that never really went away, but there was some comfort, too, in thinking of him and the life they'd shared, allowing herself to miss him and everything that was good about him. 

Tonight she thought the memories could help her drift sweetly off to sleep.

And they might have, if she had not felt something moving down at the bottom of the bed near her feet.

She leapt up, almost knocked over the lamp in turning it on, and threw back the covers.  
There was a frog in her bed.

\---

  
Her good night's sleep had been postponed by an unplanned trip through the large, silent, darkened house. She had thankfully not encountered anyone as she stole into the kitchen and rummaged around to find a spare jar that she hoped wouldn't be missed once she poked holes in the lid and made a temporary home for her unexpected bedmate.

The frog in his jar sat on the dressing table as Abby went to bed for the second time that night.

She lay there, unable to sleep, for some time. Once she did manage to doze off she tossed and turned and woke often. The final time she jerked awake was only an hour past dawn when noise coming from outside her window had her blinking groggily and wondering what on earth it could be.

When she stumbled over and threw open the shutters she found that her room overlooked a wide lawn at the side of the house. And down there, making use of that lawn, in the weak early morning sunshine, was Captain von Kane leading his seven children in callisthenics.

"At this time of day," Abby muttered, staring down at the children in their neat double rows, in their matching vests and pleated shorts, and the Captain striding back and forth blowing that awful whistle. "The man is a sadist."

As if he had heard her, the man himself looked up at that moment and she jumped back and pulled the shutters hurriedly closed. She hoped he hadn't seen the horrified look on her face. Although just the fact that he had seen her hanging out the window in her nightgown first thing in the morning was fairly horrifying on its own. She was hardly indecent but still her face was warm as she went to dress for the day in her usual brown tweed skirt and jacket.

\---

  
Abby checked her chair carefully before sitting down at breakfast. She noticed Clarke, in the place next to her, doing the same.

"It's different, isn't it?" Clarke leaned over to whisper at one point. "Such a big family."

The Griffins had only ever been three - and now two. Here they were at a long table that sat ten with every place filled.

Breakfast was a less formal affair than dinner had been. Everyone helped themselves, reaching over one another and passing dishes back and forth. The table was spread with rolls and a selection of toppings - fresh butter and jam, cheese and sausage - all the usual things Abby had put out for her husband and daughter on countless mornings over the years. It was comforting to see. Even in a grand house such as this people ate a normal breakfast like normal people; the sheer number of them didn't change that.

Captain von Kane was a solemn, silent presence down at the other end of the table. While the children talked among themselves, he barely interacted with them at all. For a man who was, as he had described himself the day before, not averse to children, he didn't seem all that fond of them, either.

He ate his bread and Black Forest ham with neat efficiency, finished his coffee, and then left the table with a single nod to them all.

"Come on," Bellamy said to Clarke as he stood up a few minutes after his father had. "You're with us, in the library. We have to be there ready when he arrives which will be in," he glanced at the clock on the mantel, "five minutes."

"I thought there'd be a whistle," Clarke said.

"There's a schedule," another boy said, also rising. "You don't need a whistle to tell you where to be if you already know you have to be there."

"Thank goodness for that," Clarke whispered to her mother, who lifted an eyebrow.

"But what happens if you're late?" Abby wondered aloud.

Clarke shrugged. "You'll no doubt find out before me. I'm not the one always running late," she said impishly before pushing her chair out to stand up and go with Raven, Bellamy, and the other boy. 

"I hope your Latin is better than John's," Bellamy said to Clarke. 

"Don't know how it could be any worse," Raven muttered.

"We aren't all going to be future Classics professors, Bellamy," said the boy whose name was apparently John as they all left the room together.

Abby was left suddenly subject to the judging gaze of the four younger Kane children.

"I'm perfectly punctual," she told them. "Besides, it can't be difficult to get to class on time when it's in your own home."

"You have to be on time. Or else," Monty, the smallest of the children, said - the pronouncement all the more ominous coming from the mouth of one so young.

"Or else what?" Abby said.

Monty shrugged. "He locks you up in the dungeon."

"Captain von Kane has a dungeon, does he? In this nice house?"

All four children nodded, eyes wide and full of innocence as they quickly elaborated:

"He locks you away down there to starve."

"And there are lots of spiders."

"And at night there are ghosts."

"Spiders _and_ ghosts."

"The spiders might be nice ones," one of the girls - Abby thought it was Octavia - added, ignoring her older sibling's elbow in her side, "but the ghosts are all mean and nasty."

"How many ghosts are down there, exactly?" Abby said.

The children exchanged looks.

"Lots."

"Lots and lots of them."

"Hm. You're lucky, you know, the dungeon at my old house only had the one ghost. And we didn't have any spiders down there at all, because the dragon ate them."

Monty in particular looked very impressed to hear this, but his brother, as the eldest present, folded his arms over his chest. "Fine, don't believe us. But the last tutor Father brought home for us went down there and none of us have seen him in ages."

Abby sighed. "Aren't we late for our morning lesson?"

They all looked guiltily at the clock and as one they scrambled from their seats and took off like a shot. Abby made her way from the dining room in their wake, hoping she would be able to follow the sound of scampering feet to the schoolroom.

\---

  
The schoolroom was a large, airy room on the second floor that in another mansion Abby guessed would have been used as a nursery or playroom. Here it was furnished with a large standing blackboard, cabinets and shelves along the walls holding books and other supplies, and two meticulously straight rows of school desks totalling seven when Abby first saw them.

They were only 10 minutes into the first lesson when there was a knock at the door and a man hefting another chair and desk arrived.

"Sinclair," he introduced himself, shaking Abby's hand after setting down his load. "Groundskeeper and general handyman, good to meet you. The Captain told me to bring these down from the attic for you."

And then, with some rearrangement, there were eight desks filling the room.

Abby spent the first hour of her tutoring career watching the four younger Kane children complete grammar and reading exercises. Following the lesson schedule that was indeed clearly displayed at the front of the room beside a large wall clock, she then muddled her way through an English lesson. And thank god for textbooks - she had no trouble with scientific vocabulary but for the rest of the infernal English language, she hadn't studied it properly since she herself was a child. 

Mostly that morning she missed her laboratory. She missed sensible conversations with other adults who were there in an institute of learning for the same reason she was. 

Only a few hours in and she already wanted to turn around and head straight back to the university.

But this was to be her life now: educating these children, who weren't all that bad, really. These younger ones whose names she now knew - Monty was 6 years old, Octavia 7, Harper 9, and Nathan 10 - seemed fairly manageable by the light of day. At least no one had made her sit on anything prickly so far today.

Captain von Kane didn't join them at lunch. He rarely did, it seemed - while the mornings were spent giving lessons to the older children, the rest of his time often saw him out of the house or sequestered in his study alone and not to be disturbed. 

So from the hour of about 11 o'clock onward Abby was responsible for eight children, seven of whom may or may not harbour malicious intent towards her and her daughter.

As they all filed into the schoolroom after lunch, Clarke gave her a look which Abby interpreted to mean 'you'll be fine, Mother' along with a large helping of 'please don't embarrass me, Mother'.

She wasn't sure she was going to be able to grant that unspoken plea.

This was the first time she had all of the children in her classroom. And it was _her_ classroom. They might have been in Captain von Kane's house, but right now, in this room, she was in charge. 

"So which one of you put the frog in my bed?" she said first of all. 

There was, predictably, no response. She went to the teacher's desk - her desk now - which sat at the front of the room to one side, and opened the drawer. From it she produced the jar that she had brought in from her room during the break after the morning lesson.

She set the jar down on the desk and everyone looked at it.

"No one put this frog in my bed last night? That's a shame, I was going to give the owner a chance to reclaim it. But since it apparently belongs to nobody, then I suppose it's my frog now."

She certainly had the children's attention. Clarke was watching with a faint smile, as if she suspected what was going on. The others were just looking rather wary.

"I don't know if you're aware of my field of study. I'm a biologist, and did you know that we biologists are very fond of frogs? They make excellent subjects for experimentation. In fact, I thought as a special treat for our very first science class together, we might perform a dissection."

She got as far as laying our her dissection tools, explaining the pinning process, and described how she would make the initial incision before one of them cracked.

"No! Don't hurt him!" wailed the dark-haired little girl who jumped out of her seat and ran to grab the jar off the desk and hug it to her chest.

"So you do want him back?" Octavia nodded, and there were tears in her eyes that made Abby feel rather terrible. "Well don't worry, the frog is going to be fine. Although he wasn't doing well in my bed last night - frogs need to breathe like people do, and he couldn't breathe very well under the covers. So please don't do that again, all right?"

There was another nod and several more tears. Bellamy stood up and Abby beckoned him forward, assuming he wanted to comfort his sister. He knelt beside her and put his arm around her. 

"I thought she'd scream about it and I'd hear and I could go and get him but she didn't scream and then I forgot and I fell asleep," came the sniffling confession.

Bellamy gave Abby a rather resentful look over his sister's head, as if this was _her_ fault. 

"We'll put him back where you found him, and he'll be fine. He'll go back to his family," he said. But if these words were meant to placate they didn't do their job.

"But I want to keep him. He's safe in here," Octavia held up the jar, with the not-very-happy looking frog trapped inside.

"You can't keep a frog in a jar forever, I'm afraid," Abby said. "They need space to stretch their legs, just like children. And they need water to swim in, too, that's very important for an amphibian. Do you know what an amphibian is?" The child shook her head. "Well, we'll have to do something about that. As for the frog, we'll have to let him go outside. We'd need an aquarium for him to live in if we kept him - I don't suppose you have a spare aquarium around the house, do you?"

"An... _aquarium_?" Octavia looked hopefully at her brother.

"We don't have one of those," Bellamy said. "Sorry, O."

"Well then," Abby began.

"Maybe I could make one for you, Octavia," Raven offered hesitantly. "If I can find the right materials - and I could ask Herr Sinclair about that, I'm sure he'd help."

"Really?" Octavia said, and looked up at Abby hopefully.

Abby looked at Raven curiously. "You think you could really build an aquarium? You know it would need to be water-tight, preferably made of glass."

Raven bit her lip and shrugged. "It doesn't sound hard, it's just a box sealed around the edges, isn't it? I think I remember seeing some spare panes for the greenhouse in Herr Sinclair's workshop. Then I'd just need some kind of glue or caulking..." She nodded slowly. "I think I can do it."

"Well, all right, you do seem to know what you're talking about."

"You mean I can keep him?" Octavia demanded so loudly in her excitement that Abby hoped the Captain hadn't heard it, what with his rules for shouting and all. 

"I don't see why not," Abby said. "But until we can manage a proper aquarium, we will need to find somewhere to temporarily house our friend here. I suppose we can keep him in the bathtub - switch him to the sink when we want to use it..."

Bellamy was giving her a strange look. "Doctor -"

"Abby, you children may as well just call me Abby."

"We can't call you by your first name."

"Well, since one of you already calls me Mother, or 'Mama' when she wants something -"

" _Mother,_ " Clarke protested.

"I don't mind if the rest of you are a little informal, too."

"All right," he frowned, "Abby, are you really going to go to all this trouble just so my sister can keep a frog?"

She shrugged. She had no experience teaching a group ranging in ages from 6 to 16, and setting them a project they could work on together seemed like an excellent stop-gap while she got the hang of it all.

"Why not? I am a biologist. And for our first week of biology, we will be learning about amphibians - and the practical component will be to create a suitable amphibious habitation. Now, I want... you two," she pointed at two of the boys, "to first of all remind me of your names, and then go with Raven and help her find whatever she needs to build our aquarium."

"I'm John, he's Nathan, and _she_ doesn't like people helping her with anything."

"He's right, I don't like it," Raven said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Can you carry everything you might need back here by yourself? Tools and materials and all? This is a group project, we're all going to work on it together here in class."

Raven held out a moment longer, then rolled her eyes. "All right. Only because there will be things to carry. Boys may as well be good for something."

The three of them stood, and then all three of them hesitated. "So we can just... go?" John said.

Abby nodded. "By all means."

They exchanged looks, and then went.

She looked back down at Octavia, who was still peering into the jar, enamoured. "Does he have a name?"

Octavia shook her head, and appeared crestfallen she had failed in this aspect of frog-ownership. "What should I call him?"

"Anything you like."

She stared at the frog some more before looking up. "Bellamy, what's the Roman emperor with the name like Father?"

Bellamy looked blank for a moment, then his lips twisted upward. "You mean, Marcus Aurelius?"

She nodded. " _Emperor_ Marcus Aurelius."

Abby, withholding a smile, rubbed Octavia's shoulder. "That is as perfect a name for a frog as I have ever heard."

Octavia looked up at her and smiled a gap-toothed smile - for she was missing several teeth - and Abby hoped this meant at least one of the children liked her.

\---

  
Clarke came into her room again that night, her nightgown on and her hair still in its braid. "Mother, how do you wash out honey?"

"When were you eating honey? I don't recall having any today."

"It's not a stain, it's this." She held out her hairbrush, the bristles of which were thickly coated with sticky golden honey.

Abby sighed. "I wonder how long these pranks will go on."

"You should have dissected the frog, and told them they were next."

"Clarke."

"You were too nice to them. And now I can't brush my hair."

"I'll brush your hair for you," Abby said, guiding Clarke towards the dressing table to sit down on the stool.

"If they didn't get to your hairbrush, too."

The children did not, in fact, get to Abby's hairbrush. Her slippers, however, were another matter.

\---

  
That first week, Abby found herself every morning waking to the sound of Captain von Kane's infernal whistle piercing the peaceful early hours with depressing regularity.

Every day he had those poor children out there at the crack of dawn for callisthenics.

Every day she got up and lingered for a minute by the window. She didn't open it again like that first day when he had seen her. She merely looked down through the glass, glowering at the source of her wakefulness - Kane with his schedules and his whistles and his close-fitting gym trunks.

On this morning she stopped and stared for longer than usual as the Captain halted his marching and whistling in order to demonstrate proper technique to one of the children. Only as Abby watched, she realised it wasn't one of his own children receiving instruction, it was hers.

She did open the window then, leaning out to properly check that yes, that really was Clarke down there. 

Of course the Captain caught this and looked up but she barely noticed, too busy wondering what on earth her daughter was doing. Clarke turned to follow the Captain's gaze and waved a bit sheepishly before Kane blew a sharp note and Clarke jumped back into position, and she along with the rest of the children carried on as if there had been no interruption.

Disturbed, Abby retreated back behind the shutters.

She did not like this. Her daughter being made to hop at the sound of that man's whistle - she didn't like it one bit. 

At breakfast Kane made a point of commenting. "You'll be pleased to know that Clarke did well practising callisthenics with the rest of the children this morning, Doctor. You are also, of course, welcome to join us whenever you wish."

"What an interesting offer, maybe I will," she said, lying through her teeth.

She fumed about it, privately, all day, until she went to see Clarke that night in her room.

"Did they bully you into it? Or trick you somehow?"

Clarke snorted. "No one made me do callisthenics, Mother."

"Did you think it would be fun?"

"Does it look like fun? I just..."

"What? Sweetheart, if the other children are -"

"It's not them. Well, it is, but not the way you think. Look, we have to live with them, and you have to teach all of us... It doesn't help if I'm allowed to sleep in every morning and ignore the Captain's silly whistle - it certainly won't make them like me any better. If I can get them to stop picking on me, then you'll have one less thing to worry about."

"Clarke, you don't have to do that. They should stop picking on you because it's wrong."

"Yes, but we both know it's not that simple. Anyway, I don't mind getting up a little early."

"You shouldn't be doing anything you don't want to do, just to placate some mean children." 

"You've done things you don't want to do. You don't want to be a tutor. You had to leave your work at the university, I know you loved it."

Abby sighed, lowering herself to sit beside Clarke on the bed. "I did love it... I used to. It wasn't the same without your father there. It's him I miss, not the place where we worked."

Clarke smiled sadly. "It's not so bad here, really. And the callisthenics aren't even very hard."

"Well, that's something. Just tell me Captain von Kane hasn't given you your own whistle call yet."

Clarke hesitated, and then changed the subject. "The other children aren't all horrible, you know. Raven's all right, she likes a lot of the same books I like."

"Oh? Are the two of you making friends?"

"Maybe. She isn't as bad as the others - probably because she's the newest."

"Newest?"

Clarke nodded. "She only came to live here six months ago. She was in an orphanage for a while, and when she turned fourteen they made her leave school to work in a factory. Captain von Kane heard about it somehow and adopted her so she didn't have to give up on an education. Raven says she didn't mind the factory because she liked the machines, but I think she prefers it here."

" _Fourteen_ , that poor girl. With her leg, too?"

"I don't know how she came to be at the orphanage, she didn't say. I can't imagine it's a happy story."

"I don't think any of them have happy stories," Abby said as Clarke's head came to rest on her shoulder. 

After all, children from happy homes with living parents didn't end up adopted by bachelors with too much money and a great fondness for rules. She hated to think what might have become of Clarke if the accident that had taken her father's life had claimed her mother's as well. 

Abby knew there were far, far worse places in the world for an orphaned child to end up than here. But there were definitely times in those early days living with Captain von Kane and his children that she was not at all pleased her daughter had wound up here, too.

\---

  
"Will you be all right?" Abby said to Raven as they found themselves at the edge of the villa's extensive grounds and began to make their way along the riverbank. "We don't have to go very far, I was thinking just out of range of the Captain's whistle."

Although the Captain wasn't presently at home to whistle for them regardless - it was the only reason she had chanced this particular escape out of the house at all.

"I can manage just fine," Raven said, frowning slightly at the question.

And she did seem to be managing quite well, even over the uneven ground. Whether that was sheer determination not to be seen to falter now that the possibility had been raised, Abby didn't know. 

"I could turn around and go home if I'm slowing you down," Raven added resentfully.

Abby patted her shoulder. "You all have so much energy, if anyone's slowing us down it will be me. Besides, I'm in no hurry to get where we're going today."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't even know _where_ exactly we are going, for one thing. If you hadn't already guessed, this isn't so much an educational excursion as it is an excuse to be outside and have a picnic on such a beautiful day. We've all been cooped up inside all week, I thought we could do with a change."

"So you didn't really bring us out here to observe frogs in their natural environment?"

Abby's mouth twisted wryly. "Oh, we'll be doing that too, but only because it's fun."

There was a sigh from behind them, where Bellamy was walking. "You see, O, you should have saved that frog for the next tutor. This one likes them too much."

"No," Octavia huffed, "Marcus Aurelius loves his new home. Someone else would have just screamed and made a fuss. Like Frau Helga with the snake."

Abby looked back at them, brow raised. "She does snakes, too?"

"Why, don't you like them as much as frogs?" Bellamy asked.

"No, I like them even more." 

Raven snorted softly, but she was also smiling a little and Abby restrained the urge to link arms with the girl, unsure if it would be taken as an offer of assistance. Clarke was walking on Abby's other side and she had no similar compunction there. She slipped an arm around her daughter's waist and Clarke leaned into her as they strolled along. 

Her next words were still directed at Raven, though, because there was more than one way to establish a link - or make a new friend.

" _You_ seem to like mechanical things more than living ones."

At that Raven looked up warily. "Why do you say that?"

"I know the type. My husband was an engineer."

"Really? He was?"

Abby nodded. She rubbed her hand up and down Clarke's arm, unsure if the sudden mention of her father would upset her. "He was always building things, or fixing them. I was wondering - I have an old typewriter I can't use, several of the keys are sticking. Do you think you could do something with it?"

"I've never fixed a typewriter. Isn't there a repair shop in town?"

"Well, of course, if you don't think you can do it -"

"I could do it. I mean... I could try, if you don't mind waiting for me to figure it out. I usually can."

"I don't mind waiting. The only thing I need urgently to have typed is the lesson plan the Captain keeps asking me for. Please take all the time you need."

Harper turned around suddenly and stopped in front of her. "Are we really just going to have a picnic? For fun?"

"I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing this afternoon. Can you?"

"But we still get to look for frogs," Octavia said with some concern.

She reached back for the little girl, who didn't blink before grabbing Abby's hand. "Don't worry, we won't waste too much time drinking lemonade or splashing in the water or climbing trees, we'll be having real fun hunting down the Emperor's cousins."

Octavia looked so torn Abby laughed and wanted to hug her.

"So is this spot good enough?" John said then.

Abby looked around at where they had all paused in their walk, and found that the gently sloping grassy bank in the warm sun was indeed good enough.

"It's just right, John, thank you."

The boy looked almost embarrassed at this faint praise and he quickly set down the basket he'd been carrying, as if simply relieved not to have to go any further. Bellamy put down the other basket nearby, and then all of the Kane children looked at each other, and then at Abby, as if they weren't sure what they should do next.

They had been on a picnic before, hadn't they?

Over the next hour or so they seemed to get the hang of it. Like wild creatures penned up for too long, they slowly returned to a more natural state. They were children; they were meant to run and play and be noisy at least some of the time. 

Abby sat on one corner of their blanket, which was almost too small to hold all of the food required to feed eight growing children and one scientist, and she watched it happen. She watched Octavia spend twenty minutes looking for frogs and then two hours climbing every tree she could find. She watched the children chasing each other and paddling at the water's edge and yes even _shouting_ and realised that, at some point, she had ceased seeing them as the enemy.

Maybe it had been what Clarke had shared with her about Raven's past. Her heart had certainly gone out to the girl, and to the rest of them, orphans all. She just couldn't dislike them anymore.

Even if the sugar bowl had been full of salt this morning at breakfast, a fact which she had only discovered after putting a generous spoonful in her tea.

And even though they were still tiresome little brats, who were still so guarded and had a pack-like tendency to close in if they spotted a weakness.

The problem was that she had started to feel as if she understood them a little. They had spirit, that much was clear. Despite whatever sad circumstances were behind them, and despite their strictly regimented existence with their adopted father, none of them had let it repress them. 

Abby couldn't help looking at them and thinking there might be hope for her and Clarke, too.

Clarke had spent most of the picnic so far either talking to Raven or sketching in her notebook, but right now she was stretched out on the grass with her head in Abby's lap, dozing happily while her mother stroked her hair.

As long as the little brats stopped including Clarke in their pranks, Abby thought she might be in danger of even growing to like them.

\---

  
They tromped back to the villa late in the afternoon as the sun was making its descent behind the mountains.

The children all seemed tired but happy, and Abby felt the same until they made their way up the steps from the garden to the terrace and saw the Captain waiting for them. His expression was severe and it only grew darker the closer they approached and he saw the state the normally neat and tidy children were in after their outing. 

Captain von Kane had left the house that day before lunch and Abby had taken her chance, announcing the impromptu excursion with every intention of returning the children back where they were supposed to be before he came home. But she supposed they had lingered too long, and now they were going to face the music. Literally.

Because of course the whistle appeared, and there was the signal that even Abby was beginning to recognise, prompting the children to dash over to take their positions all in a row before their father. 

After a moment's hesitation and a helpless glance at her mother, Clarke also hurried to take a place at the end of the line.

It was awkward for Clarke, Abby knew. She couldn't really blame her for her attempts to fit in with the others, nor for assimilating so easily to the Captain's rules. If Abby was honest, the man had such a commanding presence that a tiny part of her sometimes felt the need to snap to attention right along with the children. Fortunately every other part of her suggested she do the exact opposite so she was not in much danger of indulging that particular urge.

Especially not right now. She approached the waiting Captain at her own pace, entirely unapologetic even under his intimidating gaze.

"Doctor Griffin. May I ask what exactly you have been doing out of the house all afternoon?" Before she could attempt a response he continued, "I am unaware of any changes to the children's schedule, so would be interested to hear you explain why it is you were apparently off roaming the outdoors, on a picnic I gather, rather than conducting lessons in the schoolroom."

"Actually, I was conducting a lesson, Captain."

"Really?"

"Not all science can be learned in a book, it also involves observation, demonstration, and the application of practical skills." At this point the Captain's eyebrows had risen almost to his hairline. He looked from the muddy, bedraggled, sunburnt children back to her - and she knew she was not looking much better. She crossed her arms defensively. "We were conducting field research."

"Field research."

"Yes. We've been learning about amphibians in our science lessons, and the opportunity to observe our native Austrian species in their natural state was too valuable to pass up. The river is right there."

He looked no less sceptical as he moved closer to the head of the line and lifted the flap of the basket Bellamy was carrying. "I see that your field research required a lot of cake crumbs and empty lemonade bottles."

"I suppose I could have let them starve, instead of bringing lunch with us, but it didn't seem sensible."

"'Sensible' is not a word I would throw around so casually if I were you, Doctor. I don't think you understand the meaning of the word."

Bristling at his tone, she had to physically bite her cheek not to respond.

One of the children spoke up instead, Octavia not exactly helping matters as she said, "Don't worry, Father, we didn't bring home any more frogs."

"Any _more_ frogs?" he echoed, and Abby winced internally.

She had suspected he had yet to find out about the children's new pet. He had thankfully not inspected the school room within the past few days, since the aquarium was a rather impressive and unmissable addition to the room.

"I think the children need to clean themselves up before dinner, Captain," she said, hoping this was not going to be a particularly long scolding.

"Indeed they do." He drew out his whistle and dismissed them, and as the children filed past him and in through the open doors, Abby moved to follow. "Not you, Doctor."

She sighed and stayed where she was. Yes to the long scolding, then. Or worse than a scolding.

She had just started to think she was making headway with the children. It had been such a nice day - she'd had the pleasure of seeing Clarke enjoying herself, and even relaxed herself for a little while, and felt rather accomplished wresting the Kane children out from under their father's thumb so that they could relax and enjoy themselves, too.

The past few months had been nothing but grief, and worry, and more grief and more worry - today had made for a nice change.

And now she might be sacked.

When Clarke, the last of the children, dragging her feet, disappeared inside, Kane shut the doors firmly and rounded on Abby. "I have employed you to teach them, Doctor. They should be applying themselves to their education, not enjoying themselves."

"Why can't they do both? What's wrong with them enjoying learning because it's interesting - and then, when lessons are over, having time to play like normal children?"

"There is ample time allocated for exercise in their schedule -"

"But that isn't -"

"Their _schedule_ ," he repeated, cutting off her protest, "which in the future you will follow precisely. Is that clear?"

There was not much she could say to that but: "Yes, Captain."

"Previous tutors have had similar difficulty establishing and maintaining discipline. My children can be a handful, I am aware, but I will not have their education suffer because their tutor cannot learn the rules of proper conduct in this house. You will adhere to them from now on - and see that the children adhere to them - or you will find your services are no longer required."

"I see," she said. The Captain nodded as if the conversation was over and she found herself adding, "But I don't agree."

"Don't agree with what?"

"That their education will suffer if I don't strictly uphold all of your rules. If I am to teach them, then I will establish my own authority with my own pupils - and they will be far better for it, and learn more. You can judge the results for yourself from the standard of their work, but as for _how_ I teach them, that's up to me to decide."

The Captain didn't say anything for a long time.

She was having visions of a haunted, spider-filled dungeon.

"Interesting. You have such a high opinion of yourself as a teacher for my children, and yet you have been teaching them a week and have yet to produce a coherent lesson plan for me to review. Or will you decide what to teach them as arbitrarily as _how_ you teach them?"

"Well... I -"

"Do let me know how often picnic baskets will feature in the curriculum, won't you, Doctor?" 

"Really, I -"

"And don't be late for dinner." He turned on his heel to stride away into the house, pausing on the threshold to add: "Again."

As he disappeared inside she let out a long breath, slightly amazed to find that she still had a job. For now.


	2. Chapter 2

There was no one particular reason why he had not yet fired Dr Griffin.

There were certainly reasons why he might have. Captain von Kane insisted on punctuality; she was often late to meals. He expected the children to keep to their schedule, while she didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word. 

Her teaching methods left a great deal to be desired, of course, and she had some odd ideas about what exactly her role within the household should entail. 

And she was altogether too fond of arguing.

But he hadn't fired her yet, not even after the business with the frog. 

He had only learned of the thing one morning when Monty and Octavia were very late to breakfast. When they finally appeared he asked them why, and was cheerfully informed they had been busy out in the garden catching crickets.

This of course prompted the question of why they had been catching crickets when they should have been at breakfast. _Because the Emperor needs his breakfast, too,_ had been Octavia's reply.

And once he had been able to ascertain what on earth that meant, a rather terse discussion across the length of the table ensued. The children observed with interest, heads turning like spectators at a tennis court, as he and Dr Griffin volleyed back and forth.

"What is it that bothers you, Captain, that Octavia named it after you - which I think is quite an honour - or that it outranks you?"

"It outranks -? It is a _pet_."

"So that's the problem. You don't like them having a pet?"

His jaw tightened at the accusation. The issue was not that the children had acquired a pet; to do so without permission, without even thinking to mention it to him, seemed yet one more example of Dr Griffin disregarding his authority. 

And yet she made him seem petty for thinking it warranted any discussion at all. 

"Loving and caring for a pet can teach children a lot about responsibility and respect for living creatures," she said. "Although it isn't a pet, technically, it's a science project. And as such, I insist the Emperor remains where he is."

His eyebrows raised at that. "You insist?"

She hesitated as she appeared to consider whether or not she actually did. "I... insist you consider how strongly you really feel about saying no to this. I assure you Octavia feels very strongly about it."

"About a _frog._ "

At this point in the conversation he reflected that if he needed yet more cause for sacking the woman then requiring him to spend any amount of time discussing such a ridiculous topic must certainly qualify.

"Yes, of course," Dr Griffin said.

"I do, Father. He is very special to me. That's why I gave him your name," Octavia said reproachfully. "Well, sort of. Emperor Marcus Aurelius was a great leader, Bellamy says, and so are you. I think so, anyway."

He had no answer for that but a helpless sigh.

It was a frog. He was not touched by the tribute. No matter what Dr Griffin's smirk over her teacup seemed to imply.

"Eat your breakfast," he told the pair who had arrived so late to the table - though Monty, stuffing a roll slathered with jam in his mouth, needed no encouragement. "If you cannot be on time for meals you will go without." He took up his newspaper to hopefully read in peace while he finished his coffee. "That goes for you as well, Doctor," he added, and for once, wisely, she gave no reply.

\---

  
Somehow, over a month had gone by and Dr Griffin had managed to keep her job. Nor had she thrown a fit over some antic of the children or other and quit as so many of her predecessors had done before her.

The sad truth was he would have allowed any half-competent tutor to remain in the position at this point because private tutors, he had found, were not an endless resource. Dr Griffin was the twelfth so far in the past few years, and as she had yet to be chased off by the children and their particular ways he was loathe to send her packing. Not if there was any chance of moulding her into a somewhat decent, useful employee.

Although his hopes in that regard faded more quickly by the day. 

She seemed particularly resistant to moulding of any sort. Captain Marcus von Kane was not used to having trouble securing the obedience of those beneath him. This woman had the irritating habit of hearing a simple command, making the appearance of following it, and then proceeding to do exactly as she pleased regardless, as if she and she alone knew best in every situation.

Thankfully her daughter was a different case. Clarke was well-behaved and quick to learn, she listened and followed directions easily, and she had no trouble keeping up with the other children either in her studies or physical activities.

For instance, she had clearly never marched in formation before in her life, but after only a small amount of instruction she was as capable as any of the other children, equally matched even to Bellamy, whom Kane had taught to march when he was only 9 years old.

Very quickly he grew used to having her there with the other children, and they began to accept Clarke as one of their own, too. She fit in well, where her mother seemed determined to stand out.

It was the only explanation for why the woman occupied so much of his attention.

He did find it peculiar, though, that one person - one small person at that - could be in themselves such a large presence. With her neat braid and the sensible tweed skirts and jackets she favoured, Doctor Griffin was suddenly everywhere, filling the halls with her voice, the foyer with her umbrella and boots, drawing his notice across the table at meals. Other tutors had regularly filled that chair but their faces all blurred together. She had occupied it for only a matter of weeks but already seemed to be making for herself a lasting impression in his mind as well as in his house.

There was a table in the corner of the library that had once held nothing but a large atlas and an ornamental vase, which now held a jumble of books, papers, and a typewriter, because as she had explained the desk in the school room was not adequate for her needs. And so she could be found at odd hours working there, marking the children's workbooks, planning lessons, writing he didn't know what, replacing the usual quiet of that room with clacking and muttering and the tapping of her pen.

Former tutors had mostly isolated themselves to the schoolroom by day and the upper floor where their own room was located in the evenings. Former tutors had been more aware of their proper place in a household such as this.

He found himself wondering more than once if Abigail Griffin had ever given a moment's thought to where her proper place might be - or if she had simply decided at birth that her place was wherever she wished it to be and proceeded accordingly from that moment on.

\---

  
It was just past 10 o'clock in the morning and he was, as always, supervising Bellamy, Raven, and John in their studies, accompanied by Clarke too, as they had been for the past month. It was a task he had come to find rewarding, though he had first undertaken it out of necessity. Bellamy had shown an affinity for the Classics from a young age, and of the string of tutors hired over the years few had managed to meet the academic standard either of them expected or required in this regard. And of the ones who did, none had lasted long enough in the position to do much good anyway.

This was the one good thing he had to say about Dr Griffin - she had proven stubbornly immune to whatever attempts the children had no doubt made to roust her. He was not sure how this was the case; many previous tutors had proven unable to establish a proper degree of authority with their charges, and when they packed their bags and departed complaining of unmanageable children he saw it as a simple failure of discipline on their part.

How Dr Griffin, then, could succeed was slightly baffling. _Discipline_ was a concept with which she seemed not at all familiar.

The woman herself seemed to appear as if summoned by his idle musing. 

She entered the library but didn't approach, sparing them only a glance as she said airily, "I don't mean to interrupt, I just need something from my desk."

 _Her_ desk. The table in the corner she had requisitioned as her own without asking anyone - him for instance - if they minded.

Several minutes passed while she hovered over a bundle of papers, sorting them into some particular order, making notes here and there with a pencil. She seemed to be in no particular hurry and he stared at her back, wondering at her nonchalance.

The longer she lingered the more exasperated he became, and finally with a sigh he crossed the room to address her. "Do you mean to leave them unsupervised all morning?"

She looked up at him in mild surprise. "Oh, I don't think they'll make a run for the border. Not while Monty is in charge."

"Monty?"

"He's giving Nathan, Harper and Octavia their spelling test."

"Why would you have him do that?"

"Well, a 6-year-old doesn't need to be able to spell _befriedigend_ , but he finds it satisfying to discover he is able to read it." She paused before conceding, "He does sometimes mispronounce the words, which adds an extra level of challenge for the others. That just makes it a little more fun."

"Should a spelling test be fun?"

Her mouth twisted slightly up while she eyed the four, including her daughter, seated at the table in the middle of the room, who were making an impressive show of diligently working and _not_ paying attention to the adults' discussion. "It's not Latin, but we must do what we can."

This was, he realised, the first time she had witnessed how he conducted the children in their studies. He couldn't help drawing attention to the obvious differences in evidence here, plain to see.

"Do you hear that, Doctor? That is the sound of learning. Quiet, studious application to the subject. Perhaps you might take notes for your next lesson?"

"Why? My own method of teaching needs no adjustment. If you would like some tips, you're welcome to join us this afternoon. You'll need to bring your rubber boots, though."

"Dare I inquire what for?"

"Oh, I don't want to ruin the surprise."

Four heads had popped up with interest. At his look they all bent again over their books, and when he turned his attention back she was heading out the door with her papers.

He rolled his eyes. Of course there was to be another of these foolish ventures out of the house she insisted were necessary. At least once a week he came upon them trooping back inside, dirty and cheerfully exhausted, and there was always some rational explanation for it he nonetheless found highly suspicious - and those were just the excursions he knew about. 

Her lessons that were confined indoors were often no less unconventional. He regularly heard far too much noise coming from behind the closed door than should ever be heard in a classroom - laughter, or voices calling out answers, shouting over the top of each other. The occasions he had gone to see what was happening he found them engaged in an odd assortment of activities. 

Once they had shifted all of the furniture to the sides of the room and he entered to see them sitting in a circle on the floor with a spinning globe. Dr Griffin had claimed it was geography, and didn't think there needed to be any further justification for what was obviously some kind of game they were playing.

Which seemed a small matter besides the time he discovered them in the middle of a contest to see who could make a paper aeroplane fly the furthest across the room. 

"We're experimenting with construction techniques," the Doctor had said defensively, although she wilted slightly under his hard gaze. "But... I suppose we should be getting back to our maths lesson."

The last time he had made the trek up there, only a few days ago, he had walked in on a ghastly tableau. Everyone was out of their seats, John and Dr Griffin each had sharp implements in their hands while bent over the desk at the front of the room, where there was a gory, bloody _something_ laid out on a tray.

"Captain," Dr Griffin greeted him, "you're just in time. I asked Frau Sinclair if she would purchase a pig's heart for us to dissect, and do you know the butcher threw in the lungs for free - a good portion of the trachea is still attached, too. We can see the cardiopulmonary system very well, isn't it fascinating?"

The children certainly all seemed highly interested, gathered closely around the desk, apparently eager to see what was happening. 

"We're about to investigate the chambers of the heart, John is going to make the first incision. Would you care to observe?"

He had mumbled something, he didn't know what, and left the room immediately.

After all of this, he could only conclude that his children were being taught by a madwoman. The disturbing part was that they seemed to be enjoying it.

\---

  
The sound of the doorbell rang through the house one night while dinner was drawing to a close. Dessert had just been served, and Frau Sinclair, who had already been on her way out of the room, went to answer the door.

A minute later she was back with a telegram, which she passed to Captain von Kane.

He half-listened to the conversation going on around the room as he opened the slip of paper to read the short message inside.

"Frau Sinclair?" Raven said. "Who delivered it?"

"Why that young fellow Finn, of course."

"Finn?" Clarke said. "Oh, Mother, may I go out and see if he's still there? That's the boy who helped me, you know, in the greenhouse that day? I want to say hello."

"Well, all right, if you want."

"You might be too late, dear," Frau Sinclair told Clarke as she hastily got up and moved around the table. "He's probably ridden off already."

"Well I'll hurry and see." Clarke was out of the room then.

Kane looked up to watch her go, distracted from the telegram, which was from the Baroness.

"She knows the messenger boy?" He directed his question to Dr Griffin, who shrugged.

"She met him the day we arrived."

"And you don't mind that she is running off out of the house after this boy? Unsupervised?"

"I don't see the harm in her saying hello. I don't think they're about to elope."

There was a clatter as Raven put her dessert fork down with some force onto her plate. "May I be excused?" she said.

He frowned slightly at the noise, but nodded his assent. Raven got up from the table while he returned his attention to Dr Griffin. Her lack of concern for her 14-year-old daughter's behaviour had surprised him. 

But she did seem concerned all of a sudden. "Oh dear," she breathed, and got to her feet. 

"Doctor?" he said.

"I'll be excusing myself as well. Here, Monty, do you want the rest of mine?" 

Monty nodded, eyes wide, and eagerly accepted her plate that held a mostly uneaten slice of cake. Dr Griffin left the table in the wake of the two girls who had already departed. 

There was a moment of silence as he wondered what he had missed. Before he could reach any conclusion, however, the meal's quiet atmosphere was disrupted when several arms shot out to claim the dessert Raven and Clarke had abandoned.

"Do I not feed any of you enough?" he demanded as a squabble inevitably ensued.

With the children arguing across the table he was forced to mediate the dispute, after which Harper and Nathan were happily sharing Raven's leftover cake, and Octavia and John rather begrudgingly shared Clarke's. Monty was already nearly finished his second piece of cake and beginning to look rather ill.

With everyone else thus occupied, and peace restored, Bellamy enquired, "What was your telegram about?" 

"It's from Baroness Sydney. She'll be arriving in Salzburg for a short stay next week."

"Will we ever get to meet her?" Harper said.

"Not this time, Harper."

"But one day?"

He wasn't sure about that, and answered truthfully: "Perhaps."

He suddenly noticed that Bellamy, who had very maturely declined any part in the grab for a second helping, was now eyeing his plate.

Rolling his eyes, he slid it over to the boy, who put up a token protest. "Oh, no I'm fine."

"Go ahead. Since you are all so starved for desserts..."

Bellamy grinned and ducked his head to polish off the last of Frau Sinclair's chocolate cake.  
He always enjoyed that cake, but apparently tonight it was not to be. 

"My tummy hurts," Monty moaned.

He sighed. Somehow this was all Dr Griffin's fault.

\---

  
He first became aware that there was a problem between Raven and Clarke during a discussion of _Effi Briest_ , which Bellamy was ostensibly leading, but which somehow descended into the two girls snapping at each other about character motivation, leaving both of them near tears.

From the baffled looks on Bellamy and John's faces they were as ignorant of the cause of this as was he.

Both Raven and Clarke denied anything was wrong, and the lesson continued, but it didn't end there. 

Naturally the children quarrelled amongst themselves sometimes, it was nothing out of the ordinary. But both girls seemed quite upset about whatever was the matter, and it went on for several days until he was fed up with the moody silence and glaring.

Since Clarke was involved he felt compelled to speak to her mother about it before intervening directly, and called Dr Griffin into his study while the children went to eat lunch. When he addressed the problem she didn't seem surprised to hear about it, only that he wanted to discuss it with her.

"Oh, that. I don't think it's anything to worry about," she said.

"You know why they are behaving this way?" he asked.

"Well, they're fighting."

"Yes, but over what?

She shrugged. "They're teenage girls, who share a bathroom, and are together from morning till night. It would be far stranger if they weren't quarrelling at least some of the time."

"But there must be some reason, they are acting very foolishly, especially considering they are both usually sensible girls."

She frowned at that. "They are still sensible, but even the most sensible of people, the most sensible of adults for that matter, do not get along with each other all of the time." 

"Still, it has been several days now, I will have to speak to them about it if they cannot sort it out themselves." 

"That isn't necessary, I'm sure they will. They just need a little time."

"How much is required for a petty squabble, exactly?"

"I couldn't say exactly. Do you think you will be receiving any telegrams soon?"

"What has that got to do with anything?" She looked momentarily guilty, as if regretting her words, and she didn't explain further. He couldn't think how telegrams were at all relevant - the telegrams he received were from Diana, usually, or occasionally about some matter of business or other. "Do you know something more about this?"

"Only that... well, I believe Raven thought Clarke had taken something of hers, you see, only Clarke didn't know that it belonged to anyone. It was just a silly misunderstanding. They're both a little upset about it but neither of them is to blame."

"What was it, a hair ribbon?"

"A _hair ribbon_."

He rolled his eyes, trying to think of what two teenage girls might bicker about. These two girls in particular. "What then, a book?"

Dr Griffin was regarding him with something like pity, and his earnest attempt at understanding the situation gave way to irritation.

"Doctor -"

"The girls will be fine, don't worry, they'll straighten things out and be back to friends in no time."

"If you do know something more, Doctor, you must tell me."

"Why?"

He blinked. "What do you mean 'why'?"

"Well really, why do you need to know? Girls that age, Captain, are very sensitive, and very complicated. I'm sure I couldn't tell you exactly what either one is thinking or feeling right now - they may not be able to explain it themselves. I do know that they are both clever, kind, sensible girls whom I think we can trust to sort themselves out in the correct way. The best thing to do is leave them be. Trust them, and be there for them if they need us. Of course I say that only as someone who was once a girl that age myself, and who is now the mother of a girl that age. But Raven is yours, Captain, and of course you know her best."

Immediately he thought that this was not the case. He was very proud of Raven and cared for her as much as any of the children, but could he claim to know her best? It hadn't been a full year since he had taken her in. At 15 she was used to looking after herself, not relying on adults, and although she had grown close to the other children and had come to trust him - he hoped she had come to trust him - but no, he couldn't say he knew her as well as he should.

Dr Griffin said nothing else before leaving, as if she knew he had enough to mull over for now.

It was only later he realised just how neatly she had avoided answering his questions directly while at the same time causing him to doubt his right to ask at all. He felt sure she had engineered it that way on purpose, and it annoyed him greatly. She questioned him enough already, constantly, about everything. Now she was causing him to question himself. He didn't like it one bit.

Especially when, the following day, he told himself he would have to talk to the girls directly if they persisted with their feud, and try to get to the bottom of things himself. 

Only to find himself hesitating, uncertain, as he watched them with their heads bent over their Latin exercises. Girls at this age were sensitive and complicated. He could not dispute what seemed like plain fact.

 _Trust them, and be there for them if they need us._ It might have been the best course of action, but to follow it required him first to trust Dr Griffin and her judgement. He was not at all convinced that this was a wise thing to do.

\---

  
It was never a hardship spending time with Diana. She was witty and charming and made it easy for him to don the hat of a modern bachelor, a man who fulfilled the social obligations of his station with ease. He tended to leave that hat off, gathering dust, if left to his own devices.

But Diana and her circle provided both the means and incentive for him to go out into the world with some regularity, and when he did he found himself enjoying it more often than not.

Tonight had been an orchestral performance and then a late supper, followed by a leisurely walk back to the hotel. He had seen her through the foyer, past the concierge desk, and bid her goodnight while the lift attendant discreetly paid no attention. And then he left.

He supposed it was one of those evenings, which had begun to happen more often of late, with the potential for something more. Some greater intimacy of word or action that would signal _they_ were something more. He could tell she expected it; certain people of their acquaintance - her friends and his - might even assume this to already be the case between them.

But it was not a simple matter of merely taking the opportunity presented to them on nights such as these. There were other factors to consider.

There was before him, clearly laid out, the route he might take if he were that carefree bachelor with few responsibilities and nothing else to do but pursue beautiful women and see where such a pursuit happened to take him. But he was not that man; not really. It was a role he played now and then, comfortable enough while knowing it could be shed as easily as it was taken up.

He always arrived home afterward glad to be back in his natural state - and glad to be arriving on his own. Until that changed there was little point he saw in _pursuing_ anything, or anyone, else.

The sweet nighttime breeze of an Austrian summer, that had accompanied him and the Baroness on their walk along the streets of Salzburg, met him again unexpectedly after he had not only reached home but stepped inside and closed the front door behind him.

The breeze was coming from the hallway off the foyer - which it often did on hot days when the doors to the terrace were open wide to encourage that very flow of air through the house. 

But at this time of night, of course, the doors should all have been shut and locked. It was one of Frau Sinclair's duties, and although he usually checked the house was secure himself before retiring he never found anything amiss, so it would be very strange if she had forgotten this evening. 

He was at the open door at the end of the hallway, intending to close it and then head upstairs to check on the children, but then he heard something from outside. He stepped out onto the terrace, which was dark and empty in both directions. The noise - voices - was coming from the gardens below, in the direction of the gazebo.

He didn't know what he expected to find, but it was not this: all of his children, and Clarke, and Dr Griffin, gathered on the lawn in an odd assortment of nightclothes, dressing gowns, trousers, slippers and sandals.

There was a lantern, the wick lowered as to emit scant light, sitting on one of the stone benches along the gravel path, and in the otherwise deep darkness it allowed him to see a little of what they were doing, but not to comprehend it. 

"What the devil is happening out here?" he demanded.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. 

Dr Griffin shushed him, "Shhh!" with a finger to her lips.

As he drew closer he saw the reason - she was seated on the bench beside the lantern, and Octavia was in her lap, fast asleep. That the girl rightly should have been sleeping at this moment in her own bed was a fact seemingly unapparent to anyone other than himself.

"Doctor," he said, in a somewhat lower tone, "what is going on?"

"We're having our astronomy lesson," John spoke up bravely. He was sprawled on the grass, along with Harper and Nathan also in various states of repose. Bellamy was seated on the ground with his back to the bench where Dr Griffin sat, an open book resting on his knees.

Clarke, Raven, and Monty were gathered around the telescope. The brass instrument, mounted on a tripod stand, was about a yard long, and he had never seen it before. He gathered it belonged to Dr Griffin, and it went some way to explaining things, while introducing yet more questions.

An astronomy lesson. In the middle of the night. He had already suspected her of being irresponsible and frivolous and here was ample proof.

"It's after midnight," he said.

"When else would we do it?" she said. "Are you only just coming home?"

"Yes, I -" he stopped before offering an explanation, his jaw tightening in annoyance. 

"I thought you must have already returned and gone to bed."

"Yes, clearly you did not expect me to interrupt. Speaking of bed - that is where all of you will go right now. Inside. March."

The children hopped to their feet at his sharp tone, all except for Octavia, who slept on, oblivious. Dr Griffin struggled a little under her weight but managed to rise with the girl in her arms.

The group began to file silently past, their tutor bringing up the rear.

"Stay, Doctor, we need to talk."

He realised she would need help but she called softly for Bellamy before he could do so himself, which added to his irritation for some reason. As did the way she avoided his gaze entirely until she had finished transferring the sleeping child into her older brother's arms and watched him bear her away back up to the house.

"You should join us one night," she said, finally turning to face him. "If you could do so without ruining things. They all enjoy stargazing so much."

"Do you mean this is not the first time you've been out here like this in the dead of night?"

"It's been several times, in fact. Since I was able to collect the telescope from a friend in town - he's storing some of our things for us, you see, and we went to visit him a few Sundays ago. It's funny, I wasn't sure what to bring with us at first, Clarke and I only turned up with essentials, as if we were staying at a hotel on vacation. But everyone likes to have their own things around them, don't they? Clarke wanted her books and I wanted my typewriter and my - well, my late husband's telescope."

He recognised her rambling for what it was - feigned nonchalance, nothing but a stalling tactic. He got the distinct impression she was just as annoyed with him as he was with her. He couldn't imagine why, but the very fact that she thought herself in a position to be anything but contrite only increased his growing ire.

And then the inevitable argument began.

"You drag these children from their beds -"

"I don't drag them, they come quite willingly."

He snorted. "I'm sure it seems very exciting until they are near dead on their feet, if not already unconscious. Don't pretend you thought I would approve of this. The children have a strict bedtime for a reason, which -"

"They have a strict everything!"

"I'm surprised you noticed, or even know the meaning of the word."

"Anyone can set rules, and force people under his command to follow them - that has little bearing on their efficacy. Perhaps you just like rules."

"Discipline is necessary, this family would not function without it. Much as young children will not function without sleep. I'm surprised even you would be so irresponsible as to wake Monty, Harper, and Octavia for an excursion in the middle of the night."

"But they would be so disappointed to be left out."

"You are meant to tutor them, Doctor, not coddle them."

"I think they might need some coddling, as much as they need tutoring. Why can't I do both?"

"Because you are not their mother!"

"And they are not soldiers! They need to be loved and encouraged, cared for and indulged, just as much as - no, _more_ I believe, than they need an education."

That feeling of uncertainty that had followed him since they had spoken about Raven and Clarke several days ago suddenly vanished. What had seemed to him then the voice of experience was now an affront. 

"You may deny your own daughter a full night's sleep whenever you wish, but it is not your place to tell me what my children need."

"Well I'm going to tell you anyway, someone should. What they need is a father who doesn't just love them but shows them that he does. They deserve it, you know, they are wonderful children, all of them, each in their own way. You spend so much time concerned with what they're accomplishing, how they spend their time, I wonder if you even see them. If you paid more attention to what it is they truly need from you -"

"That is enough! I'll hear no more from you. It is past time you returned to your room, Doctor."

"Unfortunately, you can't send me to bed like the children, Captain."

"But I can put at end to this discussion. Stay here with your telescope as long as you wish. Goodnight."

He was halfway back along the path when he heard: "Wait."

He didn't want to spend another moment talking to her but stilled as the footsteps on the gravel behind him approached. He looked back to see her in the dim light of the lantern which swung from her hand. It occurred to him how strange this exchange might seem to an observer - he in smart evening wear, she in her dressing gown and a pair of rubber boots. The two of them alone in the garden in the middle of the night must present an oddly mismatched tableau.

"Are you sacking me or not?" she said.

Surprisingly, throughout the entire argument the option had not occurred to him, not until she said it. It wasn't as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind at least once a day since she had been hired. Now he considered it again. It would be much simpler to put an end to all of this nonsense here and now. 

Indeed, why hesitate? 

He wondered if she cared or was even aware how deeply she had insulted him, questioning not only his ability to care for his children but his very intentions as a father. But perhaps she didn't consider him a real father at all, since he had not come by the title in the regular way.

In the end he elected to prove her and her accusations wrong; he considered what was best for his children. Their constant string of short-lived tutors was not good for them. Getting rid of one they actually seemed to like was not something he wanted to do unless it was absolutely necessary - no matter how he felt about her personally.

He would give her another chance.

"I will hear no more of you removing the children from their beds for any reason. You will give them lessons according to the agreed upon schedule, and you will discuss any changes with me before they are implemented."

With a forced smile, she nodded. "Fine, Captain. Whatever you say."

She moved past him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and she preceded him back towards the house.

He felt keenly that this was not the end of it, that nothing had been resolved, and that he really should have just saved time and fired her on the spot. 

He turned out to be correct on two out of three points, at least.

\---

  
Dr Griffin appeared in the hallway as he left the dining room after breakfast a few days later. The children were still seated around the table finishing their breakfast.

"Good morning," she muttered when she noticed him.

He took a moment to marvel that the woman could so consistently manage to avoid being punctual when she only needed to travel from the second floor of the house. 

"This is late even by your standards, Doctor," he said, watching her pass. There was only fifteen minutes until the morning lesson was supposed to begin.

She rounded on him. "It's my day off," she said plaintively, as if with his observation he was threatening to ruin it.

In truth he had forgotten this was the agreed upon Thursday that she would have free in the first week of every month. The unexpected reminder stalled him for a moment there in the hallway. He had not made arrangements for the children, and he had an appointment to meet Wick for lunch at the club and was therefore not free to supervise them himself all day.

"Did you forget?" she said, crossing her arms.

"No." She didn't seem to believe it. Self-conscious that she could see through him so easily he redirected the conversation away from himself. "You have plans for the day?"

He thought she must; she was dressed a little differently than her usual academic style. She was wearing a simple loose blouse with sleeves that only reached her elbows, with a silk scarf tied jauntily at her neck, and she looked younger and less serious and overall the effect was rather becoming. 

To the point where he almost missed her reply.

"Some shopping - I need a new pair of slippers, my last were ruined," she said with a rueful twist of her mouth. "And I've wanted to get to the post office since last week - having Sundays free isn't much good when everything is closed."

He frowned. "If you had some urgent business -"

"Oh it's not very urgent. I just want to send a telegram." 

He waited but she didn't elaborate. He wasn't about to pry so he merely nodded, and realised that this had to be one of the more civil conversations they had ever had. Of course it had not gone on very long, which was no doubt for the best. Since the argument out in the garden the other night she had been coolly distant to him, and he to her. This slightly warmer-toned exchange perhaps signalled the advent of a new status quo. 

He looked back towards the dining room then, running over the day ahead in his mind.

"You could give them the day off, too," she said.

"Why would I do that?"

"If you have plans of your own -"

"I'll be out at lunch, but Bellamy is perfectly able to supervise for an hour or two. There is no need for them to miss any of their work today. We will manage perfectly well; I imagine we will even manage to follow the schedule correctly." Her expression was pointedly non-committal. "What difficulty should there be? I can handle eight children, Doctor."

With this said, he took his whistle where it lay tucked into his vest at the end of the chain around his neck, intending to summon them so that they could march directly to the schoolroom to start the day. They were surely finished eating by now; he didn't hear many sounds of cutlery or dishes from the doorway. In fact it was entirely likely they were all sitting in there listening to this very conversation.

"Seven." 

Her correction, offered casually, caused him to lower the whistle before making a sound. "Hm?" 

"You don't need to include Clarke. If it's my day off, it's hers, too. She has been working just as hard as I have," she said, "to fit in, to learn all of the rules. She hasn't once complained about missing her summer holidays for this."

"She's an obedient girl."

It was intended as a compliment but she bristled immediately. "Obedience isn't everything. I'm not sure I would even call her that. She isn't helpful and well-behaved because I tell her to be, or force her to be, she just is, because she cares and wants to do the right thing."

He sighed. "Of course obedience has no place in your view of the world. Or respect for authority, or decorum, or duty."

"None of those are bad things..."

"Incredible you would admit it," he muttered.

"But I think you can easily enough mould a child into a silent little human being who follows the rules, and I suppose it is wonderful for the adults who don't want to deal with young people talking and having their own opinions. I don't think the good of the young person in particular comes into consideration for such adults at all."

"This is your opinion of me?"

"I don't know enough about you to say. I know I believe it's better to raise children who can determine for themselves the right thing to do - how are they to learn if they only ever hear an adult telling them? They might never figure it out on their own."

This was a reprisal, he realised belatedly, of their argument the other night. He had intended to let it drop, but apparently she was not so willing. 

"Fortunately I did not hire you to raise anyone, merely to teach them," he said.

"What do you think it means to raise a child?" The question struck him dumb, while she merely lifted an eyebrow. "It's mostly just deciding which lessons you want them to learn. And then... having hope."

"For what?"

"That they'll do better than you did." She smiled faintly.

"I can certainly see how you would want Clarke to improve upon your example." There was a great satisfaction seeing her mouth drop open in offence. 

And slightly more when he sounded the whistle and saw her wince with a finger to her ear. 

"Have a good day, Doctor," he said, as the children came pouring out of the dining room.

\---

  
While he spent almost every morning with the older children, supervising their studies, they were old enough not to require constant attention, and the contributions he did make during those hours felt substantive and rewarding. Perhaps all the more so for being limited.

It was with a very small amount of relief he left the house at midday; he would never admit it aloud and could barely acknowledge the truth himself but he had a great deal of children and all of them together, at once, for an extended period of time, could be rather trying.

There was a reason he paid someone else to do this.

The current someone in question was cycling down the lane with her daughter, returning from their errands, as he drove out through the tall wrought-iron gates. Sinclair was standing by to close them again so he wouldn't have to stop the car and get out himself. As he drove off, passing the pair on their bicycles, he saw Sinclair in the rear-view mirror give them a wave, waiting to allow them in before shutting the gates.

There had been no rain for two weeks, the countryside baking dry in the summer heat. By the time he had made the trip to town and back, dust billowing up in great clouds along the unpaved road that ran by the riverside, the car was coated in the stuff. On his return home he parked to one side of the circular driveway by the garage, sure that Sinclair would want to wash the vehicle before putting it away. 

Inside the house was pleasantly cool compared to the warmth outside, thanks largely to the marble floors and high ceilings of the stately villa. It was pleasantly quiet, too. The lunch hour was well past, so the children should have been upstairs under Bellamy's guidance. He would go to see for himself soon, though first he went to his study, unaware that his plans for the rest of the day were about to be derailed.

A short time later he was pacing back and forth, staring down the line of suspects who were standing at attention before him in the echoing space of the grand foyer. He had brought them down, the seven of them, from the schoolroom to present themselves for inspection, and inspect them he did - for any expressions of guilt.

"You will all perhaps have noticed that I did not summon you in the usual way. That I was forced to trot upstairs and fetch you myself, in a most inconvenient manner. Some of you may be wondering why this is, but I think one or more of you is well aware. I seem to be missing something: my whistle."

He watched them carefully. A few faces showed surprise, while others were blank, perhaps suspiciously blank. 

"It was in the drawer of my desk this morning, and is now gone," he continued. "Now, I have already spoken to Frau Sinclair; my study has not been entered today by her or either of the maids, therefore I must reach only one conclusion. One of you is a thief."

He regarded them sternly. He waited; they squirmed. No admission came forth.

"We will remain right here as long as it takes until whoever it was owns up and returns my whistle. Let me assure the guilty party that the sooner they come forward, the better it will be for them."

Still nothing but silence. But then:

"There's no need to berate them, Captain, the culprit is right here." He looked up in surprise as Dr Griffin came down the stairs. Clarke was behind her, hovering on the upper landing, looking as startled by this turn of events as he was. Was she really -? She was. "I took your whistle," Dr Griffin confessed. "I'm very sorry."

"You took it?"

"Yes."

"Why would you...?" 

There had to be some rational explanation - or what passed for rational with this woman. She must have borrowed it for some reason that would make sense only to her. But her answer refuted that theory.

"Because I don't like it. The way you use it to order everyone about, I don't like it one bit. I was cross about this morning and so I took it."

"I will have it back, then." He held out his hand and waited for her to produce it.

"Oh. Well I don't have it anymore. I... threw it away. Into the river." He could only stare speechlessly at the madwoman he had hired to teach his children. She shrugged as she reached the bottom of the stairs and came to stand before him, as if there was nothing at all unusual about the situation. "I was in a temper. But it was wrong of me, I'll replace it as soon as I can. Although don't you have a spare? You tried to give me one that first day. Why don't you use that?"

He did have a spare whistle, but that was completely beside the point.

The fact that she had done something so petty and childish was offensive enough; the fact that she didn't seem particularly remorseful was outrageous. But that the children were all staring at her with amusement or amazement or both was the last straw.

He'd had enough of dealing with her and her eccentricities. He'd given her numerous chances - more than he normally would have - but it was plain that this was never going to work. It was a moment of clarity that arrived suddenly: there was no reason to tolerate her a minute longer, and so he would not.

"I'm afraid you leave me no choice, Doctor, but to dismiss you at once," he said. 

Dr Griffin just stared at him unblinking, and her defiant expression barely faltering. There were however several expressions of dismay from the children; he regretted they had to witness this. 

And then there was also Clarke, for whom he felt an additional pang of guilt - letting an employee go had never involved turning a 14-year-old girl out onto the street before. She stood at the top of the stars, wide-eyed and pale. She was not his responsibility, but he couldn't disregard her altogether.

"You may remain here until you are able to make arrangements," he told Dr Griffin, "if you need a few days to -"

"You're really sacking me? For _this?_ " Dr Griffin interrupted, sounding as if she couldn't believe it.

As if he were the one whose behaviour was unreasonable.

"It must come as a surprise that you are not able to act however you like while in another's employ and living under their roof, but perhaps this will help drive the point home for you and you will perform better in your next position."

"You're sacking me over a silly whistle?"

"Theft and destruction of my property seems more than grounds enough."

She looked as if she might say something more, but then her mouth closed in a grim line. She nodded, resigned to his decision, as was he.

Bellamy tried to speak, "Sir, I don't think -"

"Not now, Bellamy."

"But Father -"

"Be quiet. This does not concern you."

Bellamy fell silent, though his expression was mutinous, while the rest of the children just looked varying degrees of miserable. Harper was close to tears. 

"Mother," Clarke said, coming quickly down the stairs. 

Dr Griffin turned and made her way up to meet her. Clarke began to whisper furiously in her mother's ear but Dr Griffin shook her head and turned her around. "It's all right, darling, come on then."

They made their way back up the stairs, the children craning their necks to watch them go. 

He knew they approved of Dr Griffin more than they had of previous tutors, none of whom they had ever been particularly sorry to see go, but perhaps they had grown more attached than he thought. They were clearly upset by what had just happened. He found himself resenting the infernal woman all the more - if she could have managed any sort of respect for him or his rules she would still have a job, and his children would not be crestfallen.

However, what was done was done. 

"We will not let this disrupt the rest of our day," he said, over the sound of several sniffles. "I expect you all to behave, and not to bother Dr Griffin or Clarke while they are preparing to leave. Bellamy, you can take them outside for an hour or so. Marching practice, I think, the fresh air will do you all good."

Bellamy didn't argue, though he obviously thought about it.

He left the children to morosely shuffle their way towards the front door. He headed down the hallway and was about to enter his study when he heard someone run after him.

"Father!" 

He turned to see Nathan, who came to a halt and stood staring up at him for a moment.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Um, well..." He hung his head, shuffling his feet, and after several seconds of painful deliberation the boy dug his hand in his pocket - and before he even produced the damned thing it was obvious what was about to be revealed clutched in his hand.

\---

  
It was with a strange mix of apprehension and annoyance that he took the stairs up to the second floor and turned into the hallway where the girls' bedrooms were located. Dr Griffin's was last on the left; he had not been in the room since she had occupied it, of course, he merely knew which had been assigned for her use.

It was the corner room, where he saw her at her window some mornings while he was out with the children for callisthenics.

Before he could reach her room he passed by Clarke's open door. She saw him and came darting out. 

"It wasn't my mother, it was me, I took it, she was just trying to keep me out of trouble!" She began babbling out her confession before he could so much as roll his eyes. He pulled the whistle from his pocket, which he had already reclaimed from the real thief, and she trailed off, her face turning red. "Oh. Well, so it wasn't my mother, was it? I didn't think it was, she just didn't want you to be angry with any of us."

"Yes, thank you, I'm aware. I've sent the others outside, you may go and join them."

"We don't have to leave?" She sounded hopeful, which surprised him. 

He hadn't realised she was glad to be here. But then he hadn't thought to ask.

"I have to speak to your mother. Run along." She began to go before he realised there was no reason he _shouldn't_ ask, and he was suddenly curious - about many things. "Clarke." She turned back. "Do you want to stay?"

She looked surprised, then thoughtful, then regarded him in a very direct fashion for a girl of her years. "Yes, I do. It's been a lot better since we've been here." Her face changed as she looked down the hall toward her mother's room. "She's been better."

Sometimes he forgot this girl had only recently lost her father, and that her mother was so recently a widow.

All of his children had known grief before coming to live here. The people around him living with such sorrow had become normal to him, when of course it was anything but for the bereft.

"Go on," he nodded Clarke away, and pressed on towards the end of the hall.

The entire situation had taken on an air of absurdity and he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

It occurred to him that he could perhaps have maintained Dr Griffin's deception. He could allow her to pack her bags, take her daughter, and leave. This state of uncertainty he found himself inhabiting, the source of which was indisputably _her_ , would no longer be a problem.

And yet it was not a tempting option. At this point, more than anything, a need to understand was what drove him onward.

He knocked on the door, and when he heard her invitation from within he pushed it open. 

She was clearly not expecting him - she probably thought he was Clarke, in fact. As he stood there in the doorway she didn't even look round, but kept moving feverishly between the dresser and a suitcase lying open on the bed, packing her things. 

He cleared his throat. 

She turned then, saw him, and put her hands on her hips. "What do you want?" 

"To speak with you. To ask you why -"

"What else is there to say?" 

She turned her back on him and returned to her hasty packing - and immediately demonstrated that on her part at least there was a great deal to say. An angry stream of words escaped her as she went back and forth grabbing various belongings and throwing them into the suitcase. 

"I don't know why I ever thought this would end any other way," she said. "It was inevitable. I wasn't meant to work with children and even if I was, I clearly wasn't meant to work with yours - and it's not their fault, you know, because they are perfectly lovely once you get to know them. It's you!" She paused in her path to shake a handful of stockings at him. "You, Captain, are impossible. Have you never considered that the trouble you have with keeping a tutor employed here isn't with the children, or the people you hire, but with yourself? The way you order everyone around is deplorable - and I'm an adult, I can put up with it and you're certainly not the first arrogant ass I've ever met who always thinks he knows best while really not having a clue what he's doing. But those children - the way you treat them -"

"If you are quite finished?" he interrupted.

"No, I'm not." She threw the stockings at her suitcase, then turned her full attention toward him, pointing a finger at him for emphasis this time rather than clothing. "I had to hold my tongue when I wanted to keep my job -"

"When exactly in the past month have you ever once held your tongue?"

"Whenever you blew that damn whistle at my daughter, to start with. And almost every other time I've been in your presence since we met. But I'd be glad to tell you exactly what I think of you since you've done me the courtesy of sacking me, which I'm sure you've merely been waiting for a good enough reason to do all along. Honestly, you are the most -"

"Doctor! You might want to hold your tongue for at least one more minute."

"Why?"

"So I can give you your job back. Then you should certainly feel free to share your honest opinion of me and my parenting abilities."

His answer took her aback, and when he drew the missing whistle from his pocket to dangle by its chain her face was a picture. 

There was a moment of silence as she tried to speak twice, and then gave up and sat wearily down on the side of the bed, and finally rolled her eyes. "Which one of them really took it? I know it wasn't Clarke, she would have shouted it from the rooftop before letting me take the blame for it."

"No, not Clarke, although she did just try to own up to it herself, to get you out of trouble. No, it was Nathan."

"Nathan?" 

"John dared him to do it."

She nodded. "That sounds more likely." 

"So really it's the two of them who should be sent packing. But if we're to keep a martyr in our midst, the thief and the thief's provocateur may as well stay, too."

After a moment's pause she frowned. "How did he even manage to get hold of it? I've never seen you without it."

"I don't take it with me when I leave the house."

"So you don't use it to direct people in the streets? I had wondered." With a sigh she stood up and went to the wardrobe, and then to his confusion she began taking clothes from their hangars and brought them back over to fold them into the already overflowing suitcase.

"What are you doing?"

"Please don't be too hard on the boys. Nathan looks up to you so, and John - well, he just wants your attention. I'm sure they meant to return the whistle before you noticed it was gone."

"You still mean to leave? Even though..." He took a careful step over the threshold into the room. The anger had drained out of her but she wouldn't look at him, and she was still packing. "I was under the impression that you actually care for them."

"The children? Of course I'm fond of them. But don't you think this is for the best? It isn't working. You disapprove of everything I do -"

"You don't seem to approve of anything I do, either."

She looked at him then, regarding him seriously for a moment before concluding: "I don't think you're the sort of man to change, any more than I will. Which leaves us at an impasse."

"But if we can sort out this matter... I would like to avoid having to hire someone new. If you would explain why you lied about taking the whistle -"

"Only because I didn't know who it was, and I thought - well, it doesn't matter. I don't have to explain myself to you, Captain. I don't know why I imagined this would ever work. I don't know anything about teaching children and you - you are impossible to work for -"

" _I_ am impossible."

"And if it isn't this you'll only find some other reason to sack me sooner or later. Go away and let me pack my things in peace."

"Stop packing, Doctor." The note of command in his voice was deliberate and, he was gratified to see, she was not entirely immune to it. She turned, folding her arms over her chest, and actually remained still for the first time since the conversation began. "You seem to think I don't care for my family, but I do, in fact, and -"

"Of course you do. I've never thought otherwise." 

He found that difficult to believe.

"They are what you care about more than anything, that is plain as day. I just think you spend too much time arranging their lives to ensure they are accomplished and well-trained. You should try letting them be children, too." For once she didn't hurl the words in accusation, but offered the advice with the weary tone of someone saying it for the last time, with little hope of it being taken. "And you must find another science tutor for Raven," she added, "she is truly brilliant. If you do not send that girl to university it will be a dreadful shame. And Harper - I've been meaning to mention to you, I think she should have her eyes tested. She squints sometimes at the blackboard, I don't know if you've noticed, but she may need glasses. Oh, and I ordered an anatomy textbook for John, he seems very interested in medicine. Or he may just want to look at the pictures of the female body, but I didn't think it could hurt either way. Knowledge is knowledge. Please see he gets the book when it arrives."

"Anything else you'd like to tell me about my own children?"

She hesitated. "About Raven - she... I think she'll be fine. But you should make sure to let her know that you really want her here."

"Why do you say that?"

She went on as if he hadn't asked. "And as for Octavia - I'm afraid she wasn't satisfied with the frog. She's keeping several lizards in a box in her room that she thinks no one knows about. You should make sure she and Monty remember to catch crickets to feed them as well as the Emperor, I'm afraid they will forget and the creatures will die and everyone will be terribly upset. So either remind Octavia to feed her pets, or make her set them free, or prepare yourself for crying little ones, I suppose, it's entirely up to you."

"You really won't stay?"

"Go back to holding my tongue?" At his look of disbelief she went on, "I assure you I have been till now. A great deal."

"I am beginning to appreciate that." When he offered her a slight smile she returned it. He turned away, wandering to the window from which he could look down at the lawn at the side of the house. He saw her here at this window some mornings, a fleeting shape in her white nightgown, her hair a dark mass around her shoulders. "I think you should stay. The children have taken to you for some reason, and I am tired of breaking in a new tutor every few weeks. It will be convenient for everyone to put this behind us."

"Did you not notice just now when I called you an arrogant ass?"

He glanced back at her. "I noticed, and am willing to overlook it, as you were quite upset when it was said."

She opened her mouth to respond to that. He assumed she wanted to reaffirm the original insult. But a second later she subsided.

He raised an eyebrow. "If you're back to holding your tongue, then you are reconsidering leaving?"

It was now for her to turn away, looking down at the jumble of clothing filling her suitcase. "I suppose it would be more convenient not having to find another job."

He nodded. "Good. But this matter with the whistle - this all could have been avoided if you had not lied to me. I want to know why you did that. My children are often up to all sorts of mischief, this is nothing new, and yet you must have thought I'd be especially irate about this, to try to shield them from reprisal. Why?"

"I suppose I thought..."

"You thought what?"

"Well yes, they have their little tricks and get into mischief, as you say, but they also respect you completely. And that whistle is a symbol of your authority, in a way, and it seemed a rather more serious transgression than usual. I've never seen any of them mock you, not once." She looked up at him sheepishly. "It occurred to me I may have been a bad influence on them in that regard."

"They have seen you mock me?"

"Not... exactly. But anyway, now I know it was Nathan then of course that wasn't the reason. He practically worships you."

"But he can be led astray, clearly. And you, Doctor, you are not to lie to me ever again. Even in a noble cause."

"It wasn't all a lie. I do hate that whistle and have wanted several times to chuck it in the river. Only I imagined it still around your neck at the time." She shrugged at his look. "Honesty is now a condition of my employment."

"Have you been so untruthful before?"

"Well..."

"When?"

"I'm sure it's been plenty of times. Well, I have said I might join you for callisthenics one morning. That was a lie, I'm never doing that. The lesson plans I give you are more fiction than fact, I confess. Oh, and there was the pine cone. That first dinner, the pine cone - it wasn't a conversation starter, it was on my chair and I sat on it."

His lips twitched. "I know."

She folded her arms, restraining a smile of her own. "Your children are horrible little monsters, Captain."

"Yes, aren't they?"

\---

  
Dinner that night was a subdued affair. The children all seemed to be on tenterhooks, wary of the newfound truce between himself and their tutor, not wanting to risk disturbing it.

Both he and Dr Griffin were taking a similar approach. After what had been a somewhat revealing confrontation, the only possible option was to retreat behind a veneer of polite civility. Any awkwardness was thus deftly avoided.

And as a result, for most of the meal hardly a single word was spoken by anyone. 

That is, until the doorbell sounded and a few minutes later Frau Sinclair brought in a telegram. 

He turned to take it but the housekeeper bypassed the head of the table and moved towards the back of the room. 

"It's for you, Doctor."

Dr Griffin didn't seem surprised, just smiled and murmured her thanks as the telegram was handed to her. She opened the small message and glanced over it. 

"Who is that from?" Clarke asked. 

"Oh." After looking up to find several curious pairs of eyes turned her way, she folded the paper and tucked it away in a pocket. "It's just a note from a friend."

He assumed it was a reply to the message she had gone to the post office to send that morning. She hadn't ever received a telegram while she was here, at least that he knew of, so the two must be related. 

"May I please be excused?" Raven asked, and he nodded distractedly at her, barely noticing as she got up and left. 

At the other end of the table Clarke leaned towards her mother and asked a question too low to overhear. Dr Griffin rubbed her shoulder and said something in her ear that made Clarke smile.

"So that's what it was?" he heard her say with a laugh. "Well, I hope it works."

Dr Griffin nodded, and he couldn't help wondering what it was that had Clarke looking at her mother admiringly, and her mother looking quite pleased with herself.

It was certainly none of his business what the telegram was about, or who this friend of hers was; so long as it didn't affect her work, then her personal affairs were her own. So he wasn't going to ask, despite his slight curiosity. 

The only friend of hers he knew about was their mutual acquaintance, Professor Jaha. Unless the man was out of town there was no need for him to send a telegram. And what would he need to tell her so urgently a telegram was required, anyway? But then if it wasn't from Thelonius - and wouldn't she have mentioned if she had been corresponding with their mutual friend? - then with whom else did she have a habit of exchanging telegrams?

The friend might be a woman, he reminded himself, and then wondered why that fact should be significant.

Dr Griffin provided no answers to any of his unspoken questions, sitting serenely through the rest of the meal. And when dessert was served she applied herself to the strudel with relish.

\---

  
After dinner he called John and Nathan to his study.

"Why am I in trouble?" John said, as the two boys fidgeted before his desk. "I didn't do it."

"You only provided the idea and egged him on, and then allowed first Dr Griffin, and then your little brother, to take all the blame?" John shrugged, making a show of careless defiance. He sighed. "You are older, and should know better. And Nathan, you must learn to make your own decisions, and not be influenced by others. I'm disappointed in you both."

He produced two blank sheets of paper, and two pencils.

"Lines?" Nathan said.

He nodded. "100 each. Nathan, you will write: _I will not take things that do not belong to me_. And John: _I will not influence bad behaviour in others, and will take responsibility for my own actions_."

"Mine's twice as long as his," John grumbled. "Can't you just give us a belting?"

This earned him a frantic glare and an elbow in the side from Nathan.

While he was a great proponent of discipline in general, he had little taste for such extreme methods. He knew at least some of the children - John in particular - had been subject to harsh treatment at the hands of others in the past. He had no intention of following that example, or for the children to expect it from him.

Anyway, this comment from John, he suspected, was sheer bravado, and his response was merely to arch an eyebrow. "The fact you'd rather I beat you suggests this might be a more effective lesson for you."

"Be quicker, though," John muttered, one last show of defiance before the two boys brought their chairs closer to the desk and began to write.

 _Don't be too hard on them,_ Dr Griffin had said this afternoon. He didn't think he was too hard on any of his children as a rule. And while he could accept that Dr Griffin was not entirely wrong about everything, nor was she entirely right. 

She might be of the opinion that any check on a child's behaviour was unwarranted, but he rather suspected that she had merely been lucky to have a child such as Clarke. In particular, lucky that Clarke had never had any particular reason to prove she might be as wilful and defiant as her mother under the right circumstances. 

He, on the other hand, had seven little miscreants, and he would not have had it any other way. But he was still going to address any problems with more than the forgiving hugs Dr Griffin had offered the boys when they had apologised to her earlier.

 _Nathan looks up to you so, and John, well he just wants your attention._ These were not exactly startling revelations - they were truths he might never have put into words himself but that he was already aware of to some extent. 

The two boys were not far apart in age at 10 and 13, but they varied widely in temperament, and he had taken them in under very different circumstances. David Miller had been his executive officer for several years during the war, and they had maintained their friendship in the years after. David had married eventually and started a family, but his wife had died shortly after the birth of their son, and then Nathan had lost his father, too, when he was only 5 - and there had been no one else in the family who was willing or able to take the boy. Bellamy and Octavia had been in his care for over a year by then, and it seemed the least he could do for his old friend and comrade to give a home to his son. 

He knew little in comparison about John's background. He had heard of a father who died in prison, and a mother who took her own life, and a boy who ran away from the reformatory at the age of 10 and attempted to steal from the wrong ex-military officer he passed in the street one day - or perhaps the right one.

Regardless of how they had come to be here, they were both good boys.

Dr Griffin's influence reared its head again as he sent Nathan off to bed with a slightly awkward hug which the boy returned gladly. He wasn't overly affectionate with the children, usually, but he could see how there might be a benefit in being a little more demonstrative.

Once Nathan was gone he settled back in his chair to supervise the remainder of John's punishment; he wrote more quickly and with less care but as he had complained, his lines were longer than his brother's had been.

Not ten minutes later, though, John was done, too.

"I will not influence bad behaviour in others," he recited cheekily as he finished the final line, "and will take responsibility for my own actions." He set down his pencil and handed over the sheet with a flourish.

He took it silently, as he considered the boy. "Why didn't you speak up, John, were you so afraid of being in trouble?"

John's elation at finishing subsided as he shrugged. "I don't know."

"Didn't you mind Dr Griffin taking the blame for you, and being made to leave?"

"They always end up leaving anyway, don't they? What does it matter?"

" _You_ would not be made to leave, under any circumstances. You're my son. I can't fire you."

John was uncomfortable now, avoiding his gaze. "I know that. You don't need to hug me."

"Well, I could -"

"No don't, I'm too old for that, and Abby already did anyway." The heights of indignation a 13-year-old could muster were impressive. "Bad enough from a girl. Is she really going to be staying? Her and Clarke?"

"Dr Griffin and Clarke? Yes." He got up to walk John to the door.

"No one ever let me cut up a heart before. She said we could do eyeballs next."

"Dr Griffin tells me you might like to be a medical doctor when you grow up."

"Well, it was only a pig's heart. Maybe I should be a butcher."

"I think you'd be a very fine doctor."

"Really?" The hint of pride that crept into his bearing was touching.

He was hard pressed not to hug the boy despite his wishes, sending him out the door with a mere pat on the back.

He returned to his desk then, but quickly realised the day had felt interminably long and he was due to retire himself. He left the study shortly after John. Out in the hallway he thought he heard a noise from the library and went to put his head in as he passed to see who was still up. Raven was just coming out as he opened the door, jumping a little in surprise to see him.

"I was looking for a book." She looked down at her empty hands and added, "I couldn't find anything I felt like reading. I'm going to bed now, anyway."

He nodded. "Yes, it's getting late, come on." 

As the oldest, he didn't mind Raven and Bellamy staying up for a while longer than the others. They didn't keep the younger children awake as both of them had their own rooms, though at this time of night they were usually in them. 

The house was quiet around them as they made their way through the ground floor, pausing to switch off the few lights left burning on the way.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs Raven, looking thoughtful, said, "I'm glad Abby - I mean, Dr Griffin. I'm glad you didn't give her the sack. Will they be able to stay now? I mean, for good?"

After speaking with John, he was interested in hearing another opinion on the subject. "Would you like that?"

"She's not so bad, for a teacher. And Clarke's my friend, it's nice having her here." 

"It is? You didn't seem to be getting along."

"That doesn't matter, we're still friends. And anyway, Abby talked to us and well, helped us sort it all out."

"Did she indeed?"

"Dr Griffin, I mean," she corrected hastily.

Of all his issues with the woman, the fact that she encouraged the children to call her by her given name was low on the list. Right now he couldn't believe that after convincing him to leave the girls alone to make up in their own time, she had apparently not taken her own advice.

And just when he had decided to give her advice credit when regarding the children, too.

"That infernal woman," he muttered, not sure whether to laugh or tear his hair in frustration.

"Don't sack her, Father," Raven said, surprising him. She had hardly ever called him that before. "We like her."

He nodded with a rueful smile, and bent to kiss the top of her head, as they had reached the landing and were about to part ways. "Goodnight," he said, then frowned slightly as he plucked a small leaf from her hair and showed it to her.

Her eyes widened and she laughed awkwardly before snatching the leaf and heading up the next flight of stairs as fast as the brace on her leg would allow. "Goodnight, Father!"

\---

  
One night Captain von Kane sat up late in his bedroom, reading a book.

When he heard a commotion beneath his open window he got up from his chair, put out the lamp, and went to the window to look out over the darkened terrace below.

He was not exactly surprised by what he saw. In fact, he had suspected this very thing would happen again at some point. 

A few weeks had passed since he had dismissed and then hastily re-hired Dr Griffin. The peace between them had held so far, and seemed now likely to continue to hold.

It had made a marked difference, the household was more stable and peaceful because of the understanding that he and Dr Griffin had achieved that day. He had been able to acknowledge that a dedicated individual invested in the children's well-being was not at all a bad thing, even if he didn't always agree with her methods. He thought she, too, was beginning to recognise that he was not her opponent in this. That the children's well-being was his primary concern, always, even if _she_ did not always agree with _his_ methods.

And so the two of them, he felt, had reached something of an accord, and the children were going to keep their tutor. 

Even now, with what was going on quite literally under his nose - for better or worse, Dr Griffin would stay. He folded his arms and sighed and watched the troupe in their nightclothes make a less than circumspect escape from the house and move across the terrace.

Since he had caught them outside in the middle of the night several weeks ago there had been no further mention of astronomy. Certainly he had not been consulted about resuming the activity. 

But of course the woman was going to take her newly secured place in the household as free license to do exactly as she pleased. It did not surprise him in the least.

He leaned against the sill, unseen by those below - Bellamy with Monty riding on his back, Octavia at John's side, providing more hindrance than help in her attempt to assist him with the heavy telescope case. Clarke was carrying the lantern and several books, while Raven, Nathan, and Harper crowded around Dr Griffin in a bid for her attention, which she gave freely. She answered their questions with an arm around Nathan's shoulders, ducking her head to speak to him, reaching out to stroke Harper's hair fondly, then linking elbows with Raven as they went down the steps to the garden path.

He contemplated her easy manner with them, the way they responded so readily to the warmth of these gestures, until they were out of sight amongst the trees. Then he drew his comfortable armchair nearer to the window so that he could sit while maintaining his late night vigil.

There was almost certainly no need to worry about them. There was no harm that would come to them in the gardens, even at this hour. All the same he stayed there watching out the window, with a great deal to think about, until their midnight adventure was over and they were all safely back inside.


	3. Chapter 3

When Abby and Clarke had first arrived on the doorstep of the Kane family villa, summer had only just begun. By the time the warm days passed and began to grow shorter, the leaves changing and falling to carpet the grounds of the estate in the colours of autumn, the two of them had been there for several months and life had settled into a routine.

Not always a particularly comfortable routine; Captain von Kane was still very much a martinet, with his strict regimen of lessons and activities accounting for every minute of the children's days. But this had changed in certain small ways as time went on. To Abby, every in-road felt like a triumph. 

She noticed that he began to blow his whistle at the children less, and seemed to talk to them a little more. He had apparently decided to turn a blind eye to their continued midnight astronomy lessons, as well as to the growing menagerie in the schoolroom which now consisted not only of Emperor Marcus Aurelius the frog, but also a family of lizards, and a baby pigeon they had found one day when out in the countryside that they had nursed back to health and was currently moulting her baby feathers in a cage on Abby's desk. 

When she brought the children home from an afternoon spent outdoors enjoying themselves on some excursion or other, she expected he would make some show of displeasure. He would look down at her with folded arms, eyebrow raised, that arrogant twist of his mouth as he listened to her explanation - for she was always sure to have a reasonable excuse prepared for their outings, and fortunately just about anything could be educational given enough creative thinking. She expected, if they were particularly late, or if the children were particularly dirty or over-excited when they returned, that they might be subject to a scolding from the Captain. Or even some form of punishment for particularly egregious sins - such as the time the children had returned unfortunately rather damp as well as dirty and had tracked muddy footprints all along the hall. The Captain had made all the children scrub and polish the floor before they were allowed their dinner; she had felt so badly she had of course pitched in to help - and the Captain had stood imperiously over her and pointed out the spots she'd missed until she wanted to throw the polishing rag at his head.

It was all part of the routine, really. She expected Captain von Kane to be strict and officious and often irritating in the extreme, but she no long expected to be sacked on the spot. 

He was not a person for whom she was ever particularly comfortable working, but there was comfort in the familiar pattern of daily life with the Captain and his children, and more importantly in knowing both she and Clarke had a place with them. A place that was beginning to feel more and more like home. 

And then one day in October that predictability was interrupted when it became the Captain, his children, and his house guests.

\---

  
Abby had not given much thought to whom the Captain's friends were or what meeting them would be like. But if she had, she would not have imagined being soaked to the skin and dripping onto the terrace paving stones when she did.

There was a gentleman as well as a lady standing with the Captain on the terrace, but it was the lady who immediately stood out, being tall and beautiful and glamorous. She looked like a film star with her styled blonde hair and sophisticated fashion. 

Abby and the children looked like drowned rats, wet, shivering, and starting to sniffle as they were introduced by the Captain.

"Herr Wick you know, and this is our friend, Baroness Diana von Sydney. They will both be visiting with us for a time. Baroness, these... are my children." With a grimace he added: "And that is the children's tutor, and her daughter." 

"I'm so delighted to meet you all," the Baroness said with a wide smile, while the other man simply observed with a smirk, smoking a cigarette.

The children were looking more miserable by the second and Abby would have protested keeping them here any longer if the Captain hadn't rolled his eyes and dismissed them from his sight.

"Now, you will go inside and dry off and change, at once."

The children fled, shoes squelching. Abby didn't bother attempting an escape, knowing what was coming.

"And as for you, Doctor."

She sighed. "Yes, Captain."

The lecture wasn't immediately forthcoming; he hesitated, realising they still had witnesses. 

"It is growing chilly out here, Marcus," the Baroness said after a slightly awkward pause, "I think I'll have Wick escort me indoors."

As she was left alone to face the Captain, Abby crossed her arms over her chest, an attempt to conserve warmth as much as a defensive gesture, for she was trying her best not to shiver.

"I have to ask whether you enjoy turning my children into performing buffoons?" he began.

"They only fell in the river. It was an accident."

"And why were they out on the river at all?"

"Well I've been teaching them about momentum. We rowed with the current and against it, to observe how directional forces act upon a moving body, and we performed practical demonstrations of velocity calculations."

"From which Octavia and Monty benefited greatly, I assume."

"The calculations might be beyond them but they're not too young to begin to understand the basic principles."

"You might have done better teaching them about buoyancy, and how not to upset it," he said dryly.

"I suppose." It had obviously not been the plan for the rowboat to capsize and dump them all in the water. She didn't see the point in griping about it - an opinion she did not share with the Captain. "They were simply happy to see you, and so they jumped up to wave. They will know better next time so - lesson learned." 

"What will it take to ensure you learn, Doctor?"

She assumed that was a rhetorical question. "I'm sorry the children didn't make a better first impression. I'd like to go in and get dry now if you don't mind."

"One more question. Do you possess anything to wear that is not... wet tweed?" He looked her up and down critically and she was immediately wary.

"Why?" 

"I haven't ever required you to dress for dinner but today that will have to change. And so will you."

\---

  
After that awkward introduction the last thing she wanted was to sit down to dinner with any of them that night.

The trouble was that the table in the dining room wasn't large enough to comfortably seat all of the family plus Abby and Clarke, and the Baroness and Herr Wick as well. As long as the guests were there the children would be required to eat their dinner an hour earlier than usual, after which they were all to be tucked out of the way upstairs while the Captain entertained his guests later in the evening.

Abby, who shared all of her meals usually with the children and meant to continue doing so, was perfectly content with this new arrangement, and would have kept to it with no trouble. 

Except that first evening, and again several times over the next two weeks she was informed by the Captain she was expected to join him and his guests at dinner, and on only half of those occasions was she able to think up a good enough excuse to refuse. The other times she had to bear it as graciously as she could, feeling all the while quite out of place - if not simply bored.

They weren't completely terrible, these meals, but she - an academic who had been married to an academic, and now made a living as a private tutor - had nothing at all in common with a business man and a baroness. Come to that, the only thing she had in common with Captain von Kane was the children. Outside of them she had no reason to be in the house, let alone at dinner with him and his friends. The friends were perfectly civil, of course, apart from the fact that they didn't seem to know what she was doing there with them any more than she did.

She didn't know why he did it.

He might have felt that including her at least some of the time was the polite thing to do. But the Captain had never been particularly concerned with being polite to her before, so she doubted that was the reason. She had also considered that he felt sorry for her in her lonely widowhood, only ever associating with children these days - but pity seemed even less likely than civility.

Already put out about the situation she concluded uncharitably that he must want to keep an eye on her. He was spending so much time with his friends that he had to be missing his regular routine of disapproving everything she did or said.

Although that first evening, when she appeared in the dining room wearing one of the few suitable dresses she owned with her hair pinned up, the Captain looked her over and he didn't say a word. She didn't think he disapproved. So there was that.

\---

  
"Have you heard about the ball?" Raven said as soon as Abby had sat down with her tea.

She had come down late for breakfast and only she and the children were here in the dining room. She blinked back at the girl, barely awake. "Ball?" 

"Frau Sinclair just told us."

"There's to be a grand party for Father's birthday next week," Harper said. "I want to go."

"I don't think we'll be invited," said John.

Bellamy shrugged. "Apparently it was the Baroness's idea. She doesn't like us much." 

Raven nodded. "She pretends to be nice, and then looks at us like we're bugs."

"She doesn't know anyone's name, you can tell she hasn't bothered to learn. And I don't think she even knows I'm not one of you," Clarke said.

"That's not so bad. I forget that, too, most of the time," Raven said.

"How long are they staying, Father's friends?" Octavia asked, reaching over to tug at Abby's elbow. "I don't like them."

The children all looked at her as if anyone would bother telling her of their plans. "I don't know, till after the party at least, I suppose."

"I really want to go to the party," Harper moaned. 

"Me too," said Monty.

"How do you know you want to, you've never been to a party," John said.

"It's fun to try new things. Isn't it?" He looked at Abby for confirmation, who smiled.

"We don't even get to celebrate Father's birthday with him," Nathan said. "Frau Sinclair always makes a special dessert for birthdays."

Everyone looked especially disconsolate at this reminder and Abby's heart sank. She remembered Clarke, always so proud to kiss her father's cheek and Jakob's excessive exclamations over whatever little trinket or poorly crafted gift she had for him, before they all sat down for a special birthday dinner with his favourite _pflaumen kuchen_ for dessert.

"I'm sure he'll want to spend time with you all, too," she attempted to reassure them, although she wasn't actually sure that this was the case. "And I'm positive Frau Sinclair will make sure there's something good to eat. And you could always do something nice to surprise him as well," she added without really thinking about it, fond memories of family birthdays past still occupying her head.

"Like what?" Harper said.

"Oh, well you could give him a present, or do something for him..." They all stared blankly at her. "Well you all know him better than I do, what sort of thing do you think he would like?"

After some careful deliberation, Nathan spoke first: "He likes books."

"Yes, he likes to read to us," Harper added.

"He reads to you?" Abby couldn't suppress her surprise at hearing this, but the younger children all nodded, and even Bellamy smiled as if recalling a fond memory. 

"I hear him reading to Harper and Octavia sometimes when they go to bed," Raven said.

Abby had seen the Captain sometimes emerging from the younger girls' room around bedtime, but had always assumed he had merely stepped in to say goodnight.

Harper leaned closer to Abby to confide, "Raven likes the stories, too. She leaves her door open so she can listen."

"No, I don't, I have my own books to read," the girl protested. But Abby wondered if she didn't regret, at least a little, being too old to be included in this apparent family tradition.

"Well, that's very nice of the Captain," Abby said. 

Uncharacteristically nice, she thought to herself - but then immediately questioned her own assumption. Just because she had never witnessed him doing something so nice and fatherly didn't follow that he was incapable of it. One thing she could never have accused the man of was being an uninterested parent. He didn't exactly dote on them, but she had known from the start that he cared for them a great deal.

"What kind of things does he read to you?" she asked, curious about this heretofore unknown side of the Captain's character.

" _Heidi_ ," Octavia and Harper chorused.

"We made him read it twice," Harper added.

"Yes, he read us that one, too," John said. "When I complained, he switched to _Faust_."

"He likes the classics," Bellamy said. "When Octavia and I came to live here, we didn't bring many possessions, but I had one of my mother's books, _The Illiad_. He said she would want us to finish it together, me and O. She was just a baby, and some of the words were too difficult for me, but he helped me read it to her."

If Abby had melted just a bit at the thought of Kane reading bedtime stories to his little ones, this memory Bellamy had just shared went straight to her heart. Tears actually pricked her eyes and she was fiercely glad, in a way she hadn't thought to be before, that these orphans had found not just any home, but this home, with this man.

"What about a play?" Clarke said suddenly. She hadn't had anything to contribute to the discussion before, but as everyone looked at her she smiled and gave a little shrug. "For the Captain's birthday. Bellamy, you could pick something he would like, and we could perform it for him."

"Uh, I don't know, we've never done anything like that," Bellamy said.

"I have, at school. It wouldn't be difficult, Raven could build the sets, and I can paint them. Bellamy, you'll be the director. Oh, Mother, what about you?"

"Well, I think it's a nice idea."

"Good. You can make the costumes."

"What? I was thinking I'd be in a more... supervisory role. You know I don't sew very well." She could manage a button or a hem, that was about the sum of the sewing ability she had retained from lessons as a girl.

"But you're better than any of the rest of us."

She sighed. "I'll see what I can do. It is for a good cause. All right, we'll all have to work together, there will be a lot to do, and there isn't much time - and of course, don't forget the most important thing of all."

"What's that?" Raven said.

"Well, it's a surprise. You all have to keep it a secret from your father. No one can tell."

John nudged Nathan. "She means you, dummy."

The little boy straightened indignantly. "I'm not a tattle-tale."

John slung an arm heavily over his shoulders. "Don't worry, I'll keep a lid on him."

"Try to do it nicely," Abby suggested.

"We have just over a week." Bellamy clearly liked the idea, but was attempting to rein in his excitement. He looked at Abby consideringly. "We might have to miss some lessons."

Abby shrugged. "I'm sure you'll all learn a great deal about theatre and the arts." 

"Hear that?" Bellamy ruffled Monty's hair. "No more mathematics until after the play."

"Hooray! Bellamy, what's a play?"

\---

  
The Captain requested - in his manner of requesting that was actually no different from a direct order - she join the adults of the household for dinner that night. So she once again found herself sitting beside Herr Wick, trying to remember how to have an adult conversation.

All Wick wanted to talk about was politics, and all the Baroness wanted to talk about was the ball next week. Abby would have preferred the politics even though Wick was clearly more interested in teasing out everyone else's opinions than offering his own. 

The Captain, for his part, didn't shy from expressing his views on the _Anschluss_ , which Abby found refreshing. The man was so cold and reserved, but about Austrian independence he mustered considerable passion. And it was a nice change to find herself agreeing unreservedly with him for once.

The Baroness meanwhile employed her considerable wit and charm to deftly steer the conversation back to the Captain's approaching birthday celebration no matter what anyone else had to say.

"I hope we'll be able to tear you away from your charges for the night, Abigail, I'd hate for you to miss out on all the fun."

Wit and charm the Baroness certainly possessed, but she also had an overly familiar manner that set Abby's teeth on edge. 

"Oh, well, we'll see," she said, before reaching for her glass to take a generous swallow of wine.

"I can't imagine how you manage with all of them, every day, you must be a saint."

Abby lifted her shoulder in a slight shrug. "No more than any teacher - and there's only eight in my class. In a proper school there's often twenty or thirty."

"I've always thought teaching was a noble profession." The Baroness gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Which of course would count me out. If I'd ever gone out to work I think I'd have been a very good secretary. Don't take this the wrong way Marcus," she reached over to lay her hand on his arm, "but I'd rather take care of a man than his children - even darling little ones like yours."

"When a woman works she's usually taking care of herself, too," Abby couldn't help pointing out.

"I suppose that's true. But what would I know? I've always been awfully rich - my money takes care of me. You've had such trouble keeping a tutor, Marcus, have they all been as interesting as this one?"

The Captain cleared his throat. "Not nearly. 'Interesting' is not usually part of my criteria for employees, with Dr Griffin it was more of an added bonus."

"I do hope you hang onto her."

It couldn't have sounded less sincere and Abby snorted softly, lifting her wine glass to hide behind when everyone looked at her. She thought the Captain looked a little amused but he was also conveniently sipping his wine at that moment so she couldn't be sure.

"At least," the Baroness went on, "it's good of you to join us tonight, to make our little party more lively. If you won't invite any of your friends to meet me, Marcus -"

"That is what the ball is for," the Captain said.

"You know he doesn't care to entertain at home," Herr Wick said. "Think how long you had to wait for this invitation."

"You're here, too, dear."

"Only because you needed a chaperone and it was the least I could do for my favourite, wealthiest cousin. Although it might have been because Kane enjoys my charming personality so much he couldn't do without me."

"No, you were correct the first time," Kane said, to the amusement of all.

Except for Abby, who was busy worrying this turn of the conversation would mean she might be expected to dine with them more often. She spoke up, offering an alternative. "If you'd like a larger party for dinner, you could have some of the children join you, Captain. Bellamy and Raven, John perhaps - it would make them feel quite grown up to be included with the adults."

He raised an eyebrow as he considered it.

"It could be good for them, too," she went on. "In a few years they will be grown up, expected to socialise whether they are prepared or not. Surely it's better if young people are exposed to this sort of thing at home first before being tossed to the wolves."

"Oh I'd be so pleased to help set a good example." The baroness laughed. "A first for me, I assure you. But you're so right, Abigail, how nice for them to gain a taste of real society like this - they certainly wouldn't have _before_ , would they? But we can help polish them up, can't we? Our little diamonds in the rough."

Abby stared at her across the table. "I... that's not exactly what I meant. They don't require _polishing_ , I simply thought -"

"Yes, your thoughts are noted, Doctor, and unnecessary. My children do not need to be exposed to anything." The Captain's curt words cut off any further discussion on the subject. 

That he was angry was not missed by anyone, and there was a prolonged silence that lasted the rest of the main course. Finally Herr Wick made a comment about the upcoming Salzburg Music Festival and conversation amongst the other three resumed. Abby just continued her quiet indignation at the Baroness for her implication about the children's backgrounds, and at the Captain for his brusque dismissal. 

She thought he had begun to trust her judgement at least a little where the children were concerned - and he certainly had no reason to doubt her good intentions for them - but apparently that was too much to ask.

Although the truth was she now wished she'd never made the suggestion at all - she really didn't want any of the children _exposed_ to the Captain's friends any more than they had to be. Her consolation as the interminable meal eked towards completion was at least with the Captain displeased with her she might not have to be exposed to them for the length of a meal again, either.

\---

  
Bellamy was hovering upstairs waiting for her after dinner.

"About the play," he said, "I have an idea of what we might do."

She beckoned him to follow her to her room. He paused awkwardly on the threshold, and then perched even more awkwardly on the padded stool of her dressing table while she closed the door, took off her shoes and sat on the bed with a sigh.

While she was currently feeling rather uncharitable towards the Captain, she knew she couldn't let that put a dampener on the children's plans, not when they were all so enthusiastic about it. Bellamy was certainly eager, here he was practically brimming with good intentions. She heard the Baroness's words again in her head and felt indignant all over again on his behalf. 

"Well, tell me what you've come up with," she said. "I don't know anything about theatre, but I'll help however I can. You chose our play already?"

"I think so." He had a slim volume in his hands. "It's not very long, and there are enough parts for everyone."

"Is it one of the Greek plays? I hope so, I can just wrap you all in bedsheets and call them togas."

"It's Ibsen, I'm afraid. Well, it's this or Henry V."

"Oh. I'm sure they would be fine..."

"Here." With a grin he stood and presented her with the playbook. 

She was delighted to see the cover was adorned with artistically-rendered marble columns. "Sophocles? You wonderful boy." 

"I was thinking 'Antigone', because, well, Octavia loves it and she already knows some of the lines - I'll have to edit quite a bit of it down, of course, I don't think she can learn it in entirety in such a short time -"

"You're giving Octavia the lead role? She's seven."

"Almost eight. Trust me, if anyone is born to play Antigone, it's her."

"What about Raven?"

"She and Clarke don't want to be in the play, they've both declared they're far too busy making the scenery to learn lines. Which is a pain because I need another girl to play the queen." Here he paused and looked thoughtfully at Abby. "You know, there isn't any reason you couldn't -"

"I'll make Clarke do it. Is it a small part?"

"Yes."

"I'll make Clarke do it. How else can I help?" 

"We only have two copies of the Oedipus Trilogy - could you help copy out some of the scenes for the others to learn from?"

"I would be happy to." She was suddenly ecstatic to have any job that didn't involve acting in a children's production of a Greek tragedy in front of the Captain and his friends. 

"Abby? There is still the chorus. You don't really have to _act_ , you can wear a mask, and just read the lines. I would do it, but I have to play the blind prophet, and the chorus has a lot of lines in the prophet scene..."

Abby threw up her hands. "Whose idea was this play, anyway?" 

"It was your idea for us to do something for Father's birthday."

"I don't know what I was thinking."

\---

  
She was not the quickest of typists and so decided it was best to get an early start on her assigned task. Downstairs, she heard voices from the sitting room and proceeded to the library where she hoped not to be disturbed by the Captain or his guests.

The little typewriter which had been a gift long ago from her parents when she had first begun at university, and had seen her through many years of academic work since then, sat on a table in a corner of the library. She had sort of taken it over as her own place to work in the evenings. The Captain, when he had first encountered her here, had wanted to know what was wrong with her desk in the schoolroom.

The primary problem with the desk in the schoolroom was that it was in the schoolroom; she spent all day in that room, at least when she and the children had no excuse to escape for a more interesting learning environment outdoors. If she had workbooks to mark, or test questions to write, she didn't want to spend yet more hours there if she didn't have to. The library was very nice, and it was much more convenient while working here if she wanted to help herself to a glass of port from the sideboard in the dining room.

She said none of this in answer to the Captain's query. She simply told him she needed more space and left it at that. It was one of those times when he clearly didn't entirely approve of what she was doing, but couldn't come up with a concrete reason to tell her to stop. She enjoyed such moments. They gave her a satisfying sense of having gotten away with something.

She sat down at her typewriter and was able to work for all of twenty minutes before being interrupted.

Though not, as she had feared, by any of her dining companions. When one of the terrace doors behind her cracked open she turned and was surprised to see Raven sneak guiltily in and close it quickly behind her.

"I'm so glad it's only you in here," she said, only just loud enough to be heard down the length of the room.

"What were you doing out there?" Abby asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.

"I... went for a walk?"

"Alone?"

Raven hesitated, then shook her head.

Abby sighed and got up. "I thought that door would have been locked."

"It was. But it only needs a letter-opener, you can slide it through and lift the latch from outside, it's easy."

"How resourceful of you."

Raven stiffened at what she must have taken as condemnation. She stepped in the direction of the door. "I'm going to go to bed."

"Raven." She waited till the girl turned, pivoting on her cane. She didn't mean to be condemning. Above all she wanted Raven to feel that she could talk openly with her. "Do you want to go to the kitchen and have some cocoa?"

Frau Sinclair had usually retired by this time of the night. She lived with her husband in an apartment over the garages attached to the main house, and would likely not be seen again until morning. So the kitchen was theirs to invade, and Abby quite enjoyed the simple task of lighting the stove and heating milk. 

She hadn't been near a stove in months. Cooking for her family had been a necessary chore that she had neither particularly liked nor despised. And she didn't exactly miss it. But it was still nice settling at the kitchen table with a warm drink she had prepared herself, it felt informal and cosy and domestic and those were things often lacking here in the grand Kane villa.

If ever Raven could be convinced to properly confide in her, Abby thought it would surely be like this.

They had talked a little about the situation before, but not in great depth, and not in a way that Abby found altogether reassuring. She didn't much care for what she had heard about this Finn boy so far - especially since Clarke had inadvertently, and however peripherally, become involved - but she could see how important he was to Raven. She knew it would only make her become secretive about it if Abby strongly disapproved. So she had mostly held her tongue till now, and trusted Raven, the way she had counselled the Captain to do when he had asked about it some time ago.

"I didn't know there were any telegrams delivered tonight," she began with a mild observation, after taking a cautious sip from her mug.

"There weren't. Sometimes he just comes to see me. He throws pebbles at my window and I go down and sneak outside."

"What if the Captain ever caught you?" 

Seated opposite, Raven turned her mug in circles on the table top. "He nearly has once or twice. I'd probably have to write a thousand lines of 'I will not sneak out to talk to boys'." 

"You could tell him you were out there working on an independent astronomy project."

A wide grin took over Raven's face. "It's nice having a tutor who is as sneaky as I am."

"It should work well, unless he finds you outside with that boy, doing whatever it is that you do outside in the gardens alone at night."

"Do you think we're doing something wrong?"

"I can't say. There are certain things you might be doing I would have to be very worried about."

Raven frowned and looked uncomfortable. "We don't do anything like that. We mostly just talk."

"Mostly?"

Raven crossed her arms. "Mostly." Her defensive posture didn't last. She seemed to shrink into her chair as she confessed, "It's just that we used to - we used to be together all the time, every day. At the orphanage."

"Oh." 

So that was how it was. Things began to make more sense - why Raven was so attached to a messenger boy she only saw now and then. Why she would risk the Captain's disapproval and likely severe punishment to spend a few minutes with this boy. 

The boy was part of her old life. Abby didn't blame her for wanting to hold onto him.

"He left once he was old enough to work, and I - I missed him. And then I came to live here and I see him even less. I'm not sorry to be here." She looked quickly up at Abby, as if afraid she might doubt it. "I just hated that things had to change. The orphanage was - I didn't like it, but things were so much easier when we were younger, and we were all we had. Even when he visits now... it's not the same."

"I really don't believe that Clarke -"

"It's not because of _Clarke_ , I know she doesn't think much of Finn anymore. It's just - he and I, we used to talk about everything. But all he wants to talk about lately is politics. I don't understand, he never used to care about things like that. Now it's all about Austria, and why we shouldn't be Austrians anymore, we should be German instead. I don't like the sound of it."

"Neither do I."

"I know Father doesn't like the Germans."

"Have you told Finn that?"

Raven, tight-lipped, shook her head. Raven, Abby thought not for the first time, was a very clever girl.

She reached over and patted Raven's hand. "That's probably for the best."

\---

  
She and the children spent every spare minute - including the hours usually dedicated to their lessons - preparing for the play. There was a great deal more work involved in staging such a production than Abby had been aware, and it didn't help that it was all being conducted under the strictest of secrecy.

What did help was that the Captain's days were being occupied in entertaining his guests. He had even handed over to Bellamy the supervision of the morning lessons he normally conducted with the four older students. Every day Bellamy helped John, Clarke, and Raven race through the work assigned to them so that they could use the extra time in learning lines, rehearsing, painting sets, and arranging props and costumes.

Still, it was not easy to entirely escape the Captain's notice during this time. Abby found him quite bothersome, in fact. He was persistent in extending invitations for her to join the other adults at meals, but even when she managed to avoid that obligation he still seemed to corner her at least once a day to question her about the children. As if they might suddenly run amok if he wasn't supervising every minute of their time, ensuring they were productively spent.

If he only knew.

Well, he was going to discover what they had been working on so diligently, but only at the correct time. At least, that was the plan.

With only a few days before the big event, however, Abby found herself having to barricade the schoolroom door when she caught the Captain about to enter unannounced.

"Did you want something, Captain?"

"Yes, I want to address you all regarding the night of the party and how I expect you all to behave."

"Why didn't you whistle and make us go down to you? It hasn't gone missing again, has it? You never come up here."

"I certainly do, whenever I wish to, as this is my own house and I will go where I please."

"All right. If you want to speak to the children I can bring them downstairs." 

"There are enough people downstairs busy with preparations. Is there a particular reason you are acting so suspiciously, Doctor?" He frowned at the door as if he could see through it - which, she was very glad he could not. "What are you doing in there that you don't want me to know about?"

"I..." She realised there was no excuse she could invent that would turn him away at this point. He was about to force his way in no matter what she said, purely because she didn't want him to. "You can't go in."

"I can, and I will." She had flattened herself against the door and was barring the handle - he would have to push her aside to get to it. "Remove yourself, Doctor, or -"

"No."

" _No?_ "

She stepped away from the door, much closer to him than she had ever been, and to her surprise he hastily stepped back. "You can't go in, the children have been working too hard for you to ruin their surprise." She raised a hand to silence him, cutting him off before he could say another word. "I'm not going to tell you what we are doing, as I said, it's a surprise, and they would be so disappointed to have it spoiled. And so you have to turn around and go away, Captain. If you really must give us a lecture about how to behave at your party - which I gather will involve us not being seen or heard at all - then you will simply have to do it somewhere else."

He was quite red in the face by now and she wondered if she was about to hear the Captain break his own rule about shouting indoors. He took a step forward, looming over her. She folded her arms over her chest and stood firm. 

She had no idea what would have happened if the door behind her had not opened suddenly. She whirled to see John peering round the edge of the door. He looked between the two adults and his eyes widened. She waved frantically at him and he ducked back and slammed the door.

"Doctor -"

"Please, Captain." She lay a hand on his chest. "Don't. All those children want is to make you happy."

He stared down at her, his eyes travelling between her hand on his chest up to her face, and then he looked at the closed door, and he released a breath. "Very well. I'm trusting you, Doctor."

 _With them_ was the unspoken gravity of the sentiment.

He strode away back downstairs and she sagged back against the door. 

The man was so intense, sometimes an encounter with him left her oddly drained and elated all at once.

When she went back in everyone was very impressed she'd managed to turn back the barbarian at the gate. 

While Clarke and Raven had been painting wooden columns marble-grey to be used as scenery, the other children had been experimenting with the best way to tie a bedsheet into a toga. Abby quickly made them change. Sure enough not ten minutes later there was the shrill sound of the whistle and they were all marching down to crowd into the Captain's study and receive their orders for the night of the party, as if the altercation outside the schoolroom had never occurred.

\---

  
"Abby, are you awake?"

She was, suddenly, jerking out of a sound sleep at these words spoken right next to her ear.

Her heart racing at entering consciousness so abruptly, she pressed a hand to her chest as she stared at the girl leaning expectantly over the bed. "Oh, Harper. Honestly, what...?" 

"Sorry," Harper whispered. "Are you awake?"

She fell back against the feather pillow. She supposed this was a slight improvement over being woken at dawn by the Captain's whistle beneath her window that nearly always managed to pierce the glass shutters and the thick drapes and the deep veil of unconsciousness she was usually enjoying at that early hour.

Judging by the light stealing around the edges of the curtains it wasn't much later than her usual rude awakening.

Which made her wonder why Harper was here at her bedside in her nightdress instead of out suffering through the Captain's physical drills. It wasn't Sunday, was it? No, she decided as she slowly got her thoughts in order, it was Thursday today.

She lifted her head again. "What is it, is something wrong?"

Harper didn't seem to be in any sort of urgent state. "Not really," she said with a shrug. Leaning further over the bed she rested her elbows on the mattress and propped her chin in her hands and seemed to be content to stay right where she was for a while.

"Did you want something? Where is everyone?"

"Well, Octavia is catching bugs, and Clarke is in the bathroom I think, and Raven went to go and see Herr Sinclair. I don't know what the boys are doing." 

"I see." She didn't really see. "And what are you doing?"

"I wanted see you." Harper smiled sweetly, which Abby would have appreciated at almost any other hour of the day.

"Shouldn't you be outside for your callisthenics?"

"No. Well, yes. Well, Bellamy is in charge of callisthenics today because Father said so, but he didn't want to so he says we can do whatever we jolly well want."

"Your father said that?"

"No, Bellamy."

She nodded slowly. That did make more sense. 

"Do you know where Father's gone this morning? They left early."

She remembered hearing about the plans at dinner the other night. She had forgotten the outing was scheduled for today. "They were driving to visit a monastery up in the mountains, it takes several hours to get there, I think."

"Why?"

Abby sighed, lifting an arm to cover her eyes. "Well, the monks make special beer there."

"What's so special about beer?"

"The way they make it, I suppose. It's a secret, Harper, I don't know how."

"Are they going there to find out?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then why are they going?"

"Because sometimes very rich people have far too much time on their hands and nothing better to do with it and they have to keep themselves entertained somehow." She lifted her arm briefly to look at Harper. "Please don't tell the Captain I said that."

"Why not?"

"Never mind. Just don't."

"But -"

"Darling, have you ever heard of sleeping in?"

"Father says it's bad for you."

Abby snorted and lifted the covers, patting the bed in encouragement. "It's very nice, I promise. There," she smiled as the little girl climbed in beside her, "now just close your eyes and you'll see what I mean."

"But I'm not sleepy."

"Try closing your eyes. If you roll over, I'll rub your back."

"Why?"

Because she was hoping it would work just as well on another child as it always had when Clarke was little. "You'll see. Close your eyes."

Harper, who was an obliging child, did as she was told, and not five minutes had passed before the seemingly neverending questions had stopped and her breathing had become slow and steady. 

Abby, smugly triumphant, carefully halted the soothing circles she was rubbing on Harper's back and rolled over. _Finally._ Perhaps her hopes for a nice sleep-in might still be realised. 

Except that she was wide awake. 

She had spoken to Harper too long and her brain was working now and there was no hope of shutting it off again. She didn't possess that enviable ability of young children to drop off so easily. 

Perhaps if she had someone to rub her back - but of course she didn't. 

She shared her bed only with memories these days. Although on occasion there was her daughter, or apparently some other small girl, to fill the empty space.

It had been a while, though, since Clarke had come crawling into her mother's bed in the middle of the night. For a time after losing her father she had developed the habit; she had nightmares. They both did. And Abby had always welcomed her. Wrapping Clarke in her arms, soothing her distraught child to sleep again had helped fill the long hours that she would have otherwise spent with her own lonely grief.

She didn't know if Clarke had nightmares about the accident anymore. If she did, she kept them to herself. 

Lying awake with Harper curled up beside her she couldn't help being reminded of more distant, happier times. When Clarke was small she had often woken up first thing and come sneaking in to her parents' room to burrow under the covers for an early morning cuddle. 

Abby stroked a hand lightly over Harper's pale hair, smiling sadly as she thought of that other little fair-haired girl who knew nothing of how much pain there was in the world. That knowledge had changed Clarke - how could it not? - but it hadn't weakened or diminished her, it had only made her stronger. Abby could not say the same for herself. Oh, for the resilience of a child.

She might find it easier to drag herself out of bed every morning if she had half of the children's fortitude. 

Just as she began to consider that she should actually be getting up, this was when she began to feel the elusive draw of sleep tugging at her, telling her to remain where she was. She didn't fight it, allowing herself to slip into a doze. 

It didn't last long before she was woken yet again.

"Are you up yet, Mama? Oh." Abby's eyes snapped open as Clarke came through the door that had been standing wide open since Harper had entered. She stopped at the foot of the bed. If there was a hint of a frown on Clarke's face at seeing another girl snuggled in bed next to her mother she hid it quickly. "Shouldn't you be getting up? We have a lot to do today, and we can rehearse as much as we want since the Captain will be gone all day."

"Nngh, I don't want to get up," Harper whined, burrowing further under the covers. 

"It won't matter if we start a little late," Abby said, smiling at her little compatriot who seemed to have already picked up the knack of sleeping in. 

"Mother -"

"Bellamy said we could do whatever we want," Harper said, and Abby nodded.

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Bellamy isn't as in charge as he thinks he is."

Abby elected not to address that. "There's room for one more." She inched closer to Harper and indicated the free side of the bed. "I could rub your back."

Clarke crossed her arms and looked down at her disapprovingly, her manner so like the Captain at that moment the effect was rather disturbing. But after a moment she softened. "I'm already dressed."

"I don't mind."

A small, reluctant smile appeared. "Maybe just a few minutes." She bent down to slip off her shoes and then practically dove into bed. 

Abby smiled broadly as Clarke settled in close to her, as if she, too, felt nostalgic for a time when she had been less independent and more accepting of this simple comfort.

"How come Harper's here?" Clarke whispered.

Abby shrugged and continued stroking Clarke's hair. "I never actually figured that out."

\---

  
The afternoon of the Captain's 47th birthday, several hours before the front gates were due to be opened ready to welcome the cream of Salzburg society for an evening of elegant dining and dancing, the children were ready to welcome a smaller party for their surprise.

It was Abby's job to fetch the guest of honour. He was out on the terrace with his friends, and as Abby approached she found there was one more of them than usual.

"Professor," she said, stunned to see a familiar face.

He stood. "Thelonius, Abby, please. It hasn't been so long, has it?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked before realising how rude it sounded.

"He is here visiting another of his friends," the Captain said dryly.

"Oh, of course." Of course Thelonius and the Captain were friends; that was how she had gotten the position here in the first place. It wasn't as if she had forgotten that, but this was still unexpected.

"I have a prior engagement this evening and won't be attending the party, unfortunately," the Professor explained. "I wanted to come by and wish Marcus many happy returns. Although I'm glad to have to chance to see you, as well - you look well, Abby."

"Thank you, I am well."

"And Clarke?"

"So is she, perfectly well."

"Will you join us Doctor?" the Captain said. "There's lemonade, though I'm not sure I recommend it."

Suddenly she remembered why she was here. "No. Actually, I'm here to ask that you join me. The children have prepared a special treat for us all, in honour of your birthday, Captain."

"Have they? What a surprise."

"How lovely," the Baroness enthused. "What could it be?"

"If you would all care to follow me inside," Abby said, and led the way through the double doors and along the hallway to the foyer.

Everything looked ready when they arrived.

They had decided to use the grand staircase as their stage. The central landing formed the perfect platform for the tragic events of King Creon's court to play out while the audience sat in the chairs arranged on the floor below. The actors would make their entrances from the floor above, or through the door at the back of the landing.

Right now the set included several potted ferns borrowed from the conservatory, and a beautifully painted olive tree backdrop that hung from the banisters above to signify they were outside.

"Here, Captain, this seat is for you." She brought him to a chair front and centre. 

There were two rows of chairs - although since the professor was also here now they would need one extra. The audience they had anticipated was herself, the Captain, his two guests - now three - and the Sinclairs. 

The Captain sat as directed, and after hurriedly whispering to Herr Sinclair to fetch another chair she took the one on the Captain's right.

"So this is what you've been hiding all week?" he said to her, keeping his voice low.

"Aren't you glad I didn't let you ruin the surprise?"

"That remains to be seen. Whose idea was all this?"

"Bellamy. He arranged everything." He was giving her that look of his when he didn't believe a word she was saying. She shrugged. "I don't know anything about Greek tragedy. The children did all of this themselves. And Sinclair helped, too - he and Raven made the scenery. Here." She presented him with the neatly typed version of the script that she had left ready on her chair. "I've marked our lines in red ink."

He blinked. "Our lines?"

"Yes, you're being recruited to the chorus of elders. I didn't think I should have to do it on my own." 

In truth she hadn't wanted to do it at all and certainly not on her own, and Raven had refused, and everyone else was already in the play. When she had thought to make the Captain help her it had seemed like the perfect solution.

"You and I are the entire chorus? I haven't rehearsed." He seemed rather alarmed at the news. 

"It's a children's play, no one will be expecting Rudolph Valentino."

" _Rudolph Valentino?_ He was in silent films."

She shrugged. "He was brilliant, I was madly in love with him when I was younger." The Captain stared at her as if he had no idea what to do with this information. She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Pay attention, Captain, it's about to start."

It was. The stage had been set and the actors were all in place; Octavia and Harper looking very nervous and excited as they waited above to make their grand entrance.

"The chorus is supposed to be on stage," he hissed, looking around him self-consciously.

"We're also supposed to wear masks," she hissed back, "but I was afraid you wouldn't be able to see very well, which would have defeated the purpose since this entire production is for your benefit."

Abby had been reading the chorus parts over and over for days in their rehearsals, so she didn't have to give it much thought now and could enjoy the play as it went on. Of course, she had always read the lines alone. She was amused at how completely her partner threw himself into the role. He seemed to really enjoy it - both the play and his part in it.

During a pause for a scenery change the Captain was very conscientiously reading ahead and Abby couldn't help leaning over to tell him, "I knew you'd do well at this."

"Well I am familiar with the work, fortunately."

"I meant because the lines of the chorus are so judgemental."

"Pay attention, Doctor," came his clipped reply. "We'll miss our next cue."

Abby was relieved to find that their preparations had paid off and things went more or less without a hitch. 

Well, John's crown fell off several times, and Monty couldn't take two steps without tripping over his toga, and in the final scene Harper couldn't seem to keep from giggling when she was supposed to be portraying the tragically deceased corpse of the King's son. But all of these things merely added to the charm of the production as far as Abby was concerned, and from the glances she stole at the other members of the small audience they looked as if they agreed.

Clarke was an excellent queen in Abby's slightly biased opinion. The other children also did very well; aside from the giggling fits, Harper was enthusiastic in her dual role as both the king's son and Antigone's devoted sister, choosing to wail all of her lines as if perpetually in the throes of agony. Nathan was perfectly cast as an impertinent sentry who argued with the king, and John was surprisingly effective as the embittered patriarch unable to prevent his own ruin at the hands of fate. 

As Bellamy had predicted, Octavia, for all of her nearly-eight years, delivered an impressively fierce and passionate performance in the title role. 

As for the chorus of elders - they were perfectly adequate. 

" _Of happiness the crown_  
_And chiefest participating_  
_Is wisdom, and to hold_  
_The gods in awe._  
_This is the law_  
_That, seeing the stricken heart_  
_Of pride brought down,_  
_We learn when we are old._ "

With these final lines the play concluded to great applause. The players all arranged themselves on the stairs and bowed. Abby was glad to see Bellamy bring Raven down to join them. She had been so insistent on not wanting to act, but had worked harder than anyone behind the scenes and deserved the applause just as much as the others.

Before he'd even finished clapping the Captain was on his feet. He went straight over to meet the children as they eagerly descended the stairs to crowd around him in a clamour of excited voices. He caught Monty who almost tripped once again, lifting him up to sit in the crook of one arm while he hugged Octavia to him with the other, and he smiled at all of them as they told him happy birthday and asked him what he had thought of the play.

Abby rose too and went to Clarke who had come down the stairs more slowly. She was watching the other children with their father with a wistful expression. 

"You were the best one," she whispered, putting an arm around her daughter.

Clarke looked at her and managed a small laugh. "I suppose I didn't mind being a queen."

"You were very regal." She reached up to straighten Clarke's crown of leaves. "Your father would have loved to see you."

"Would he?"

"Of course, he would be so proud. Even if you had been terrible."

Clarke laughed again but her smile was tremulous and Abby pulled her into a comforting hug. Over her daughter's head she saw the Captain had witnessed the exchange. He still had the children pressed around him, eager for his attention. But he spared a moment for her as their eyes met and they shared a smile. They were just two parents who loved their children in that moment. 

He looked down to focus again on the breathless chatter around him. She'd never seen him so happy.

\---

  
The children had gone upstairs to change out of their costumes, and Abby would have followed them but she found herself facing Thelonius again instead.

"Professor." 

"Abby, do you have a moment? I'd like to take the chance to catch up, though I can't stay much longer."

"Of course. What did you think of the play?"

She barely heard his answer.

She didn't know why she felt so awkward around the man - it was just so strange to come face to face with this reminder of her former life. 

Suddenly she remembered all too clearly just how short a time it had been since that day that changed everything, when Jakob had been killed and she had been transformed. One day a happy woman with her happy little family, never dreaming this would ever change. The next, a grieving widow solely responsible for providing for her daughter. It had not even been an entire year yet since that day. 

Professor Thelonius Jaha had been a good friend of Jakob's, and after his passing had offered his assistance to Abby. The only assistance she required, she had told him, was in finding a better position - with a better wage - than the one she currently held at the university. 

Standing before the man now she could only be thankful to him, for he had done exactly that. 

Not that being a children's tutor was highly-paid work, but she and her daughter were housed and fed which of course made a great difference in their living expenses. If the downside was living under the Captain's somewhat draconian rule, being subject to both his will and that of his children, and overall suffering a general lack of free time - well. She was more or less used to the Kane family and their ways by now. And she didn't particularly want free time these days.

Free time meant time for her to dwell on her feelings, and feel sorry for herself. She had always preferred to lose herself in her work, or in focusing on the people she cared about, rather than on what couldn't be changed.

"And you, Abby, how are you? And Clarke, too?"

"Oh Clarke, she's wonderful." She seized on the subject and they discussed their children - for the professor had a son of his own close to Clarke's age - for several minutes.

The conversation became easier, though still tempered by the painful history between them that neither of them wanted to directly address. But Thelonius was a friend; it was good to see him, she decided, even with these feelings unearthed so unexpectedly.

"I'm so glad that working as a tutor has worked out for you, and Clarke too. I want to make sure you know I'm still available to help in whatever way I can, if you ever need it. You need only contact me."

"Thank you. I don't think it will be necessary. I've managed to keep myself employed so far. The Captain did give me the sack once, but he quickly changed his mind."

"That's interesting to hear. He's not really the type of man who changes his mind once it's made up."

"True."

"Still, Abby, if circumstances change. Well, you know where to find me."

There was something in the way he said it... "Circumstances?"

He looked caught out. "I... can't say that they will, I don't know Marcus's intentions."

"His intentions concerning what?"

He looked around, ensuring there was no one else nearby to hear. "He's been a bachelor his whole life but, as far as I know, not confirmed. Have you considered he might get married?"

She realised he was talking about the Baroness. It hadn't escaped her there was probably something between the Baroness and the Captain. Abby had merely considered it none of her business. "If he did, I don't see what it has to do with me."

"Well, a new wife might have different ideas on how to run the household. But of course, who knows if it's even a possibility, or whether it would have any affect on you or your position. No sense speculating."

He smiled a mild sort of smile he probably thought was reassuring.

Abby was not particularly reassured but that was beside the point. The Captain's personal life and its potential effect on her livelihood was not something to which she wanted to give any thought unless she had to. 

"You're right. There's no sense speculating at all. Would you like me to run and fetch Clarke down to say hello before you have to go?"

\---

  
The party was well under way, the house full of well-dressed guests, the orchestra playing. Abby emerged from her room, having prolonged dressing as long as she could, knowing she should keep an eye on the children wherever they had gotten to. They weren't up here with her, that much she knew.

She came out onto the landing overlooking the ground floor where numerous guests were milling about but couldn't spot anyone teen-aged or younger - but she did spot Captain von Kane, just as he spotted her and started up the stairs. She moved along the landing and met him as he reached the top.

"I know it was your doing," he said.

She frowned. "What am I in trouble for now?"

"'Antigone', an interesting choice. Octavia's performance will go down in history, I'm sure."

"Oh, the play." She was surprised he was still focused on that when he and the Baroness were in the midst of hosting this elaborate celebration. 

"Yes. I know I have you to thank for it, but I didn't have the chance to, earlier."

"I told you, it was Bellamy -"

"Who would never have planned all of that on his own, not without encouragement."

She smiled slightly, looking down over the crowded foyer. "He's usually too busy making sure everyone else is all right to take initiative on his own behalf. Have you noticed that? It makes him an excellent big brother."

The Captain was quiet for a moment. "You think he neglects his own potential."

She looked over at him, exasperated. "That's not what I said at all. I thought you might be in a good mood tonight."

"What makes you think I'm not?" He paused for her response, which was to roll her eyes. "I came to thank you for the play; for helping them."

"They really only needed a little encouragement."

"You often give them far too much. But in this case it was an acceptable amount." His smile was small but sincere, as well as brief. He nodded once and turned back to the stairs. 

She halted him before he was more than a handful of steps down. "Captain? I understand why you're so hard on them, I do. I understand that you want to teach them to be the best that they can possibly be. To excel in school and in life and to never put a foot wrong - and that way no one will ever be able to look down on them or think the worse of them because of where they came from. You think if they're perfect no one can ever hurt them - but they're perfect already, just as they are. Anyone who matters will be able to see that. And if they ever meet someone who doesn't? If they grow up believing they're loved and are worth loving then they won't care what anyone else thinks."

He stood looking up at her as she spoke. She watched the play of emotions on his face, saw the instinct to deny what she was saying, to turn away and not listen - because he never wanted to listen to anyone where his children were concerned. It was a protective desire she could understand but she had thought tonight he might be willing to listen to her.

She thought he did, just this once. He didn't seem to have anything to say but he didn't look angry and that was something.

She sighed and made her way down the stairs until she was two above him and was looking him in the eye. "Anyway... I hope you enjoy your birthday, Marcus."

Eyebrows lifted in surprise at that. "Thank you, _Doctor_ ," he said with irony.

Her mouth twisted. "I didn't think even you would want to stand on ceremony at your birthday party."

"Well, you might be right..."

"'Abby'," she filled in for him since he couldn't bring himself to say it. "And yes, I often am."

He ducked his head, hiding his smile. He looked extremely charming when he did that; she was glad he didn't do it more often.

"Well, happy birthday," she said again. "You don't have to worry about the children for the rest of the night, I'll keep them out of trouble. That can be my gift to you. Enjoy your party."

"You don't have to watch the children, Bellamy is more than capable of supervising them, wherever they've got to. You should stay and enjoy yourself. I insist," he added when she started to refuse.

"You can't insist someone enjoy themselves, Captain."

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Of course it's 'Captain' if you're arguing with me."

"And I doubt I would, anyway. It's not really my kind of party."

He frowned and looked around the place as if unable to understand why this would be so. His eyes landed back on her and he said, "Is it because of your dress? Because you look -" He stopped speaking abruptly and seemed completely unable to find a word to use to finish his sentence.

She flushed. "Thank you for that reassurance, Captain. And no, it isn't my dress."

Although now it partly was. She was wearing the one formal evening gown she owned - it was years old, but she had always liked it, thought the navy blue chiffon and lace rather flattering. She had worn it multiple times to the occasional parties or other formal events she and Jakob had attended over the years. And she had pulled it out once again tonight and thought she looked fine.

Now she was self-conscious, and the Captain wasn't helping. He had turned redder than she.

"Well, I... Very well. I need to attend to my guests," he said.

"And I am going to go and find the children," she replied.

He nodded stiffly and headed away down the stairs. She let out a breath, taking a moment to pull herself together. What did it even matter what she looked like? She wasn't officially attending the ball, she merely had to chaperone the children for an hour or so before they were sent to bed, and then she would gladly retire herself.

Her plans for the evening set, she descended into the crowd of guests just as Captain von Kane escorted Baroness von Sydney into the ballroom.

\---

  
She eventually managed to locate the children who had retreated to the wide courtyard where the terrace wrapped around this side of the house. It looked into the ballroom, the doors of which stood open to allow the refreshing night air to flow through the crowded space. From out here the children could see the dancing and hear the music without being in anyone's way.

After watching for a while Harper was too enamoured by it all, wanting to dance herself. Bellamy proved his chivalry - after rolling his eyes - standing up to twirl the much smaller girl around for a minute before the waltz came to an end and another tune began. The partners in the ballroom took up positions none of the children were familiar with.

It was the Ländler, and Abby found herself making a poor attempt at teaching John the traditional folk dance to the amusement of the rest of the children.

She knew the dance fairly well, although it had been years since she'd last put her knowledge into practice. John was terrible and the other children were entertained as he stepped on her feet repeatedly. It was much easier teaching science than dance she was discovering, on the verge of giving up altogether.

Before she could, a voice interrupted them.

"Perfect just as they are, didn't you say Doctor?" The Captain was on the threshold, watching their poor effort while the dancing pairs behind him followed the intricate steps with ease. His tone was arch but his features were softened with a tolerant smile. "I can't agree. This is dismal, what are the youth of this nation coming to?"

He strode across the courtyard to join them and looked down at John, who had turned red in the face.

"You've never learned our national dance?"

"No sir," John said.

"Any of you?" Kane looked around at the children, all shaking their heads. He tutted in mock displeasure. "Then you will all have to pay close attention. Off you go, John." He patted the boy's shoulder, nudging him to rejoin the others. He turned to Abby and lifted his hands into position. "Well, Doctor?"

She blinked up at him for a moment, unsure how exactly this had come about.

But how could she resist that challenge in his eyes?

As the music continued to drift out to their ears she stepped into his arms and they began the first steps of the dance.

Their movements were not quite in unison at first - she resisted the guiding pressure of his hand and he trod on her foot within the first three moves - and the resulting frown of consternation on his brow amused her greatly. 

"That was your fault," he chastised her. "You must let me lead, just this once."

"No."

"No? Do you want to lead instead?"

"No, but you shouldn't, either. I'm not a dog on a leash. This is a dance; to get it right, we must work together."

But something had happened, even in the short time it took for this exchange of words to take place - there were no more mistakes, or missteps. They were dancing perfectly.

"You see?" she said, somewhat smugly.

"I think I do," he replied.

The dance went on, the intricate forms flowing easily from one to the next as if the two of them been dancing like this together their whole lives. And it was fun. It was exhilarating. It was fascinating - to think, Captain von Kane making her feel like this, dancing with her so beautifully. It was nothing she had ever expected from him. It was like a dream.

But he was too real for mere fantasy. His hands where they touched her grounded her quite firmly to the earthly confines of her own body until the music wound down and their dance came to an end.

As they slowed together, still the world failed to resolve itself clearly around them. For now it only held the two of them as they stood gazing into each other's eyes.

For a moment he was so close, and he was looking at her so intently, she almost thought he wanted to kiss her. For a moment he almost looked like he might.

In that same moment, she almost thought she wanted him to.

The shock of recognising that desire for what it was spurred her away from him as if she'd been burned. Her face was positively flaming as she looked anywhere but at him.

"Thank you, Captain." She could feel him staring but didn't dare meet his eye again. "I'm sure the children appreciated the demonstration."

"Yes, I hope you all paid attention," he lifted his voice to address them all. Abby willed her heartrate to slow as he moved further away. "I need to return to my guests, and I think all of you need to be in bed."

Over the inevitable chorus of protests Abby leapt on the idea. "Yes, bed. Everyone, come on." 

She began herding them back towards the house. She didn't look at the Captain as they passed. She wasn't sure if she would ever look at him again.

After getting the children upstairs the routine of baths and bed was a much more lengthy process than usual. The noise from the continuing celebrations beneath them could be heard throughout the house, and the children were over-excited and not in the mood to sleep. Abby passed back and forth between the bedrooms for more than an hour before everyone was finally in bed and willing to stay there.

And after all of this Clarke and Raven still ended up in Abby's room, their heads full of elegant parties and dresses and dancing. They would have happily talked about it all night long. It was very late when she finally ushered them, yawning, back to their own rooms. 

She didn't mind the distraction; the children had made it easier to push aside the uncomfortable thoughts crowding her head. 

Jakob had only been gone a year - not even a year, though nearly. The pain of losing him was still ever present, a constant ache. She thought of him and missed him every day. But she was also not some blushing girl, no, she was a full-blooded woman who could admit that she missed her husband physically, too. It had been a year since she had been in a man's arms - since she had been touched that way, responded to it, wanting more. 

If she had felt something in that moment dancing with the Captain, some brief stirring of attraction, it didn't have to mean anything. It _didn't_ mean anything. 

Once she was alone she got into bed straight away and although it had been a very long day and she was exhausted, it was not at all easy to sleep. Not with the feel of the Captain's arms around her lingering so viscerally in her mind - along with the look in his eyes just before the dance ended.

\---

  
After all the furore surrounding the Captain's birthday, the days following were a welcome return to normality - at least for Abby.

There was some complaining from the children, for it had been quite a holiday spending all those days in preparation, skipping lessons to focus on the novelty of the play. They did not regard the return of their grammar and mathematics books with any joy. But Abby found it oddly comforting and didn't bother questioning too carefully why that might be.

Her days spent focusing on the children and their routine of lessons and meals and activities carried on much as they had before.

The Captain's house guests had departed and so the household, too, was once again as it had been. 

Nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed that Abby was willing to acknowledge, that is. Especially not now. Several weeks went by uneventfully and Abby threw herself into teaching the children, and most importantly making sure their lessons were enjoyable. Because when they were engaged and having fun that meant she was, too.

But one day, after seeing the children into the dining room to eat their lunch, she left them there to go and find the Captain sequestered in his study. She had put this off for several days already, and it couldn't wait any longer.

"Enter," came the order when she tapped on his door.

She stepped inside. "Can I speak to you?" 

He nodded, and once she was seated across from him in the hard-backed chair, she took a breath, and then another, hesitating for a moment under his expectant gaze.

"I need to take a day off. Next week, on Wednesday." She could see the question forming on his lips. "It's a personal matter, we'll be out the whole day, Clarke and I."

"You barely take half of your allocated days off; I've no objection to you taking one if you need to. I... hope you are both well?"

His hesitant question suggested he was imagining a doctor's visit. She couldn't think why other than her obvious desire to keep the matter private. She had never come to him with such a request before, he must be assuming some dire conclusion. He wasn't too far wrong in that case.

"We're both perfectly well. Thank you, Captain."

"And you say you will take Clarke, as usual."

Of course when she did take her days off she enjoyed the chance to spend time with Clarke, just the two of them. They had ridden their bicycles into town a few times and enjoyed a day without schedules or rules except ones they made for themselves.

"Yes."

He still looked like he wanted to know more, but he only nodded to indicate she could go.

She rose slowly, studying him as he dropped his eyes to the papers on his desk. She tried to imagine the man she had first met all those months ago being so considerate as he was being now. She didn't want to think too much on why he had changed. She had never asked him to change. Had she?

"It will be a year on Wednesday since Jakob died," she said, as she stood before him and watched his eyes slowly lift to hers. "I'm taking Clarke to visit the cemetery - he was buried in Amstetten, at his parents' church."

It seemed to take an age for him to say anything. "I see. You'll go by train? If you let me know the time you expect to return, I'll have Sinclair collect you from the station in the evening."

"Oh, that won't be necessary."

"Please, I insist."

"Oh you _insist_." She snorted. "Very well, Captain, have it your way as always." 

She left him behind looking slightly taken aback, and more than slightly concerned. And he was only being considerate - thoughtful - _nice_. She just found it maddening. She'd never asked him to be nice to her. And right now she simply couldn't bear it.

On her way back to the schoolroom - for she had no wish to join the children for lunch - she hastily pulled open the top button of her blouse so that she could reach in and pull out her necklace. 

She held the two rings, threaded onto the simple silver chain, tight in her fist. She needed to hold onto them like she held the memories of her husband, the man she loved, in her heart. She held on until the metal dug deep red furrows in her palm - and she didn't care because she wasn't ready to let go.


	4. Chapter 4

"Where's Abby?"

"Octavia, raise your hand if you want to ask a question."

"I did, but you aren't looking."

Ignoring this indignant retort, Captain von Kane kept his eyes lowered to the page of notes he was attempting to read. 

This was surely the reason Dr Griffin was so attached to that typewriter she kept in the library; her handwriting was terrible. Unfortunately she had not typed the information that should have helped him direct the children's studies today. A simple list of chapters, page numbers, or exercises to cover would have been sufficient in this situation, but whenever she took a day off he was left with a thorough inventory of where each child was in each subject, along with detailed instructions and suggestions for work to be covered on the day in question. And since it was handwritten it was a challenge even to decipher half of it, let alone follow her directions.

He had the distinct impression that was the idea.

Or that was how it had seemed to him the past few occasions this had occurred, when it didn't seem at all out of character for Dr Griffin to take such an opportunity to mock him.

Today it felt uncharitable to assign to her such underhanded tactics.

Setting down the page he finally lifted his gaze to look at Octavia. On the topic of handwriting, she should have been working on her cursive penmanship exercises, and was instead staring at him with her mouth fixed in a stubborn line, with her hand reaching determinedly for the ceiling.

"Yes, Octavia?"

She let her hand fall with a huff of relief. "Where's Abby?"

"Do you mean Dr Griffin?"

"Yes, where is she?"

"Having her day off. She and Clarke will be out for the day."

"But it isn't her day off, that's on a Thursday, and it's Wednesday today, so why -?"

"Don't be so nosy," Raven chided. Seeing her frown he realised Raven, at least, was well aware of the reason Dr Griffin and Clarke were out of the house on this particular day. "What does it matter?"

Octavia shrugged. "Well, I just wanted to show Abby my snake, that's all."

He cleared his throat, drawing the girls' attention back to the front of the room, where he sat with eyebrows raised. "Snake?"

She nodded. "I found it in the garden this morning, it's in my desk." She lifted the lid of her desk, so eager to display her latest find that in Dr Griffin's absence apparently he would do. 

"Octavia," he said, lifting a hand to rub his temple, "please do not keep live animals in your desk."

"It's all right," she said, head still obscured as she rummaged - and exactly how untidy must the child's desk be, if she could not find a snake, of all things, amongst the contents? "Abby wouldn't mind."

"In fact I think Abby would agree that your desk is not the proper place for a reptile."

"Don't you mean Dr Griffin?" John said, prompting several snickers around the room, which were quickly stifled as Kane got to his feet, unamused.

"Octavia, you will have to take the thing back outside at once." Between the frog and the lizards there were more than enough pets being kept here in the schoolroom as it was. They certainly did not need to add a _snake_ to the collection.

"I can't, he isn't here, I can't find him," Octavia wailed. "He must gave got out." Her distress was at the loss itself, and not due to there now being, apparently, a slithering reptile loose somewhere in the room.

He cast his gaze around the floor warily, while several of the children did the same. He consoled himself that the snake must have been quite small if it had managed to find a way out of a closed desk - through a crack under the lid perhaps.

Monty had gotten up from his seat to join Octavia in staring fruitlessly at the contents of her desk. "Where do you think he went?" he asked.

"I don't know!"

"You'd better check the aquarium. Don't snakes eat frogs?" John said helpfully.

Octavia gasped and turned to look anxiously towards the aquarium that sat on one of the low cupboards along the wall at the back of the room, before jumping up to go and check more closely. In so doing, she let the lid of the desk drop back into place. Right onto Monty's hand. 

He yelped in pain and burst into tears, and then there was an uproar with everyone out of their seats, half the children trying to console Monty, while Bellamy blamed John for having teased Octavia, prompting an argument between the two boys. Octavia meanwhile shouted a hasty apology to Monty, more concerned with retrieving her beloved frog, which she clutched protectively to her chest while beginning to search the room for the missing snake. 

Kane took a steadying breath before going to check Monty was not seriously injured - his small hand thankfully did not appear broken. It was painful, though, and the boy required comforting before his sobbing reduced to sniffles and the odd hiccup. After that it was a chore settling everyone back down and returning some semblance of order to the room - and to make an attempt to locate the missing snake. 

"Don't worry," Nathan said at one point, looking up at his father, "Abby will be back later, won't she."

His father was not sure which of them, exactly, he was trying to reassure.

The thought may have occurred to him - while attempting to persuade Octavia that nothing would eat her precious frog and that it must be returned to its tank - that he could always release the children from lessons for the rest of the day. Give them a break, as well as himself.

He _didn't_ , of course. But the thought was there.

\---

  
Dr Griffin returned with Clarke in the evening while the family were sitting down to dinner. The two of them didn't come to claim their usual places at the table; Frau Sinclair kept plates warm for them in the kitchen should they decide to eat later.

It wasn't until morning that Kane saw either of them. Clarke joined the children as usual for callisthenics outside in the chilly morning air. Winter was coming on quickly, adding extra incentive to move with vigour in order to brace themselves against the low temperatures. Afterward, back inside and having dressed for the day, he met Dr Griffin on the stairs as they made their way down to breakfast.

"Am I especially early or are you coming down late?" she said with a slight frown upon seeing him. "I don't know which is less likely," she added in a mutter, causing him to smile. She was never particularly cheerful first thing in the morning.

"You are in fact right on time for the breakfast hour," he told her as they continued down the stairs side by side. "I suppose that is early by your reckoning."

"I must be turning over a new leaf."

It was said wryly but he wondered if there weren't a grain of truth to it - if she might see herself at a turning point, having marked the anniversary of her husband's passing. 

He wanted to ask if she was all right, if yesterday had been very difficult for her and Clarke. Of course it must have been - and of course he couldn't ask. There was no way for him to inquire without intruding on her privacy, which he was loathe to do. Especially now.

There was no denying there was something, some odd note of awkward tension, unacknowledged but persistent, in their interactions of late. He thought she had seemed wary of him, was even avoiding him - though he might have been imagining that, because it wasn't as if she had ever sought out his company.

He cast about for something else to fill the silence but there was no need - the silence was very effectively broken by Nathan and John as they came thundering down the stairs, tearing past him and Dr Griffin just as they reached the bottom. 

He snapped up his whistle to interrupt their race to reach the dining room, halting them in their tracks with their signals quick and sharp. "Back upstairs," he ordered as they turned sheepishly to face him. "You may come down to breakfast if you are able to do so without behaving like a pair of stampeding elephants."

The boys moved to obey, Dr Griffin smiling affectionately at them as they trudged past. Of course she did not disapprove of their behaviour. Had he not been present she likely would have offered to judge the winner of the race - or joined in.

He sighed. "The children will be glad to have you back today."

She seemed pleased to hear it, though she only replied, "I'm sure they managed perfectly well."

He was not sure the children would agree. They much preferred her style of teaching to his own, and while the day had not entirely been a disaster, he knew she would have at least handled the situation with Octavia and the snake somewhat better. 

They never did manage to find the damn thing.

In the dining room they went to the sideboard to collect their usual beverages - coffee for him, tea for her - stepping out of the way to allow John and Nathan to help themselves to glasses of milk as they arrived. The other children filtered in until everyone was present and seated, the usual idle chatter and clinking of plates filling the room.

"Father, can we have another party again soon?" Harper said, just as he was unfolding the morning paper.

"No."

"Why not? Didn't you like it?"

"I didn't," Nathan declared, saving his father from answering. 

"Me neither," Octavia said, her face screwing up in distaste. "It's all just about wearing silly clothes and dancing silly dances."

As soon as the words left her mouth his gaze flew to Dr Griffin, who was focusing most intently on the butter she was spreading meticulously onto a bread roll.

This, of course, was the source of the unnamed tension. Because that night at the party, when they danced, something had changed. Or perhaps it had already changed - had been changing gradually for quite some time. When they danced together he knew he could no longer deny it, and was left only to wonder if she knew it, too. 

He was still wondering about that.

"I don't think it's silly," Harper said. "I think it's nice."

"That's because _you're_ silly," Octavia countered.

Harper poked her tongue out at her, and Octavia was making a rude face in return when Bellamy nudged her. 

"You might actually like that sort of thing when you're older, O."

The little girl did not look convinced. "What if I don't?"

"Then that is perfectly all right, too," Dr Griffin said firmly, and Octavia was suitably mollified by this to reapply herself to her breakfast.

Harper was not so easily allayed, returning to her line of questioning. "But you liked your party, didn't you, Father?"

"It was fine, but I much preferred the earlier entertainment that all of you provided for me with your play."

"Well, but when it's _my_ birthday," Harper said, "I think I would prefer the party. And it is my birthday next..."

He rolled his eyes. "It is a month away, and I'm sure Frau Sinclair will make your favourite cake."

"But -"

"No, Harper."

Harper huffed. "Could we have another party if the Baroness was here?"

He frowned at the question. These awkward matters kept reasserting themselves this morning.

He had not seen the Baroness since she had departed the villa and returned home nearly a month ago now. They had not parted on the best of terms, due largely to the events of the night in question. 

He had acted on a whim when John's clumsy attempts to follow the steps of the Ländler had driven him to step in and offer his hand to Dr Griffin. He had not known how it would affect him. He hadn't thought to care that they were in the wide open courtyard in plain view not only of the children but anyone who might care to look out from the crowded ballroom and see them dancing together.

Diana had seen them. She let him know shortly after the dance had ended - while Dr Griffin was escorting the children upstairs, and he was watching them go. He had been staring, still reeling internally, his blood racing through his veins, and not simply from the exertion of the dance. 

"Such a way with children," Diana had said, appearing at his side to observe with him the children with their tutor ascending the stairs. "It's really a dreadful shame she lost her husband. She's clearly meant to be someone's wife."

He had been immediately defensive, because there was often a sharp edge to the things Diana said, but they had rarely been pointed in a direction so close to home. "Surely that applies to every widow."

"And yet I can't imagine anyone saying it about me. Oh, did you forget about my late husband? Never mind, darling, between you and me I often forget about him, too. Do you think Abigail will ever be so uncaring?"

"I couldn't say."

"I doubt anyone could, at this point, not even her." Diana had smiled at him then, and she was the last woman in the world to ever cause a scene but it had been a particularly chilly smile directed his way as she said, "Do remember to save me the last waltz, Marcus, we'll be expected to close out the evening. Unless you're too busy dancing with the help to spare me the time."

There had been little either of them could have said at that point to salvage the situation, had either of them been inclined to do so. 

To Harper, here and now, he said only, "The Baroness is back at home in Vienna."

"Will she be coming to stay with us again?"

He found himself noticing the odd way in which Dr Griffin suddenly paused in the act of lifting her cup to her mouth to drink, her hand hovering halfway in between. She was not looking his way and yet he knew she was listening. 

"No... no, I don't think she will."

Dr Griffin moved again, teacup reaching the top of its path so she could take a sip.

"Why not?" was Harper's next innocently posed question.

Which he, of course, had no intention of answering. He was about to tell her to be quiet and eat her breakfast but Dr Griffin forestalled him with a different approach.

"Harper, why don't you tell me what you all did yesterday. Did anything interesting happen? Did you learn very much?"

"Octavia shut her desk on my hand!" Monty said before Harper could respond. "Look." He held out his injured hand, which was indeed sporting a fine bruise for Dr Griffin to admire.

"Oh dear." She winced in sympathy.

"We skipped our maths lesson," John volunteered next.

"You did?"

"Father couldn't read your handwriting."

"And none of us could remember what chapters we were up to," Raven said with a shrug.

He folded his arms over his chest as Dr Griffin arched her eyebrows at him. "I had them focus on reading comprehension, instead," he said. 

"We skipped science, too," Bellamy said. "But that was only because we were looking for the snake."

"They missed mathematics _and_ science? I wonder about your priorities, Captain."

"I wonder about yours," he replied, and there was no denying the way his pulse picked up as he held her teasing gaze across the length of the table for those few seconds.

Then she blinked and looked around at the children. "Wait... snake?"

\---

  
Whatever temporary uneasiness existed between them, imagined or not, it did not persist after that day. He thought Dr Griffin seemed less troubled in his presence. Or perhaps she was simply less troubled in general. It had naturally been a difficult time for her and her daughter, but life must continue on and so it did for them all.

He was, for his part, perfectly content for things to return to normal for the time being. 'Normal' of course being a relative concept for his family.

One evening at dinner he looked down the length of the table at them, his children who appeared just as neat and tidy in their uniforms as he preferred, eating quietly and with appropriate manners. And at the end of the table, Dr Griffin with Clarke seated to her right, both of them similarly unobjectionable.

They all looked so well-behaved and entirely innocent - indeed incapable by all appearances of any wrong-doing. Of course, he knew better.

"Would anyone like to tell me about their day? I assume you all spent your time productively, applying yourselves to your lessons?"

There was a chorus of 'yes, Fathers' and 'yes, sirs' accompanied by a round of cherubic smiles. Though not from Dr Griffin who was merely eyeing him warily. As she should.

"Learned a great deal, did you?" More nods. "Well I would be very interested to hear what knowledge you managed to acquire when you were climbing trees this afternoon."

Dr Griffin had just lifted her water glass to drink and seemed to narrowly avoid choking, swallowing with difficulty and clearing her throat and then still failing to produce an immediate answer. 

"Well, Doctor?" 

She almost always replied smartly to such inquiries, but at his question she looked blank-faced, at a loss for words. 

He began to suspect there was no answer; that they had been climbing trees for the sole purpose of climbing trees. 

"Am I to assume my children were larking about in the trees like a troupe of circus monkeys all afternoon for the fun of it?"

"You saw that, did you?"

"I'm not surprised you didn't notice me as I drove past. You all did seem very busy making a spectacle of yourselves along the road for all to see." There was silence, and a number of ashamed faces around the table. Dr Griffin merely looked as if she was trying to think of a good reason for tree-climbing that would get her out of a lecture. He couldn't wait to see what she came up with. 

"Well?" he prompted again.

"Oh, well, Captain, you see..." 

"Physics," Bellamy said. "It was a physics lesson, sir."

"Exactly, a practical demonstration of applied physics," Raven said. "Very useful, we all learned so much."

The children all nodded in agreement, the very faces of innocence. He didn't believe it for a second. Especially since Dr Griffin was looking around at them, baffled, until she realised he was watching her. Then she fixed an unconvincing smile on her face before applying herself to her soup.

"I wouldn't have understood any of it otherwise," Nathan piped up.

The Captain fixed the boy with a sharp look. "Oh yes, understood what?"

"Sir?"

"I'm no scientist, but 'physics' is a rather broad field. Tell me, what exactly did you learn today?"

The children exchanged a series of looks amongst them. 

"Raven? John? Anyone? Octavia, you'll tell me the truth, won't you?" 

The little girl paused, her mouth overly full of bread. She gave her mumbling answer after swallowing half of it. "Well I did learn quite a lot about gravity." She paused to swallow the rest. "Especially when Nathan pushed John out of his tree because John threw an apple at his head. Abby said Dr Newton would be proud."

There was a burst of giggles around the table which were quickly stifled when he looked up. 

Octavia turned to Dr Griffin. "Abby, who's Dr Newton? Is he your friend from the university?"

"No, dummy, he's been dead for years," John said.

"Oh. What did he die of?"

John shrugged.

"The Black Plague, I bet," said Nathan. "Everyone died of plague back then."

Monty nodded. "Because of the rats."

"What about rats?" Octavia asked.

"Well the people then were stupid and ate too many of them," John said. 

Octavia gasped, horrified to hear this, but beside her Monty looked suspicious. "I don't think that's how you get plague. Or all the cats would have it."

Dr Griffin hid her laughter. "Very sound reasoning, Monty. I've never seen a cat come down with the plague."

"Abby's friend didn't really eat any rats, did he, Father?" Octavia said.

He was by now pinching the bridge of his nose, wondering what good their education was doing if this was the sum of their historical knowledge. The older ones at least were looking amused rather than participating in the display of ignorance, but that was almost as bad, and certainly due to Dr Griffin's influence.

"No, Octavia. Nobody ate any rats, and Monty, you are correct, that is not how one contracted the plague. Which is beside the point, because, Nathan, as you would be aware if you paid better attention to your medieval history, the Black Death preceded Sir Isaac Newton's birth by some three hundred years, so he could not have died of it."

"So if he didn't eat rats, how did he die?"

"Yes, Captain," Dr Griffin said, "how did he die?"

"I don't know, Doctor, but I am eager to find out. Which is why you will all proceed to the library after dinner and spend the time before bed researching the topic, and write an essay entitled 'The Life and Death of Our Friend Sir Isaac Newton', to be delivered to me first thing in the morning."

There was a chorus of unhappy sighs meeting this pronouncement.

"How long?" Raven said.

"Monty and Octavia, one paragraph. Nathan and Harper, one page. John, Clarke, Raven, Bellamy, and Dr Griffin, two pages each."

Dr Griffin had been looking sympathetically at her students, but frowned suddenly. "Did you mean to include me?"

"Yes." He met her eye, daring her to argue. Or to laugh. With her, he was never sure which was more likely. Though in this instance she looked as if she was going to argue - he had certainly had enough opportunities to learn the signs. "Were you, or were you not, also climbing trees this afternoon, Doctor?"

She wisely did not argue after that.

Though she laughed a moment later when Monty leaned towards her to whisper, "Don't worry, I'll help you."

When the meal concluded they all filed obediently into the library. After a few hours he went to check to ensure no one was still up past their bedtime, and found only Bellamy working at the table alone.

"Everyone else has gone to bed," he said, offering no explanation as to why he was still here, although he didn't need to.

Kane knew perfectly well that Bellamy had spent the evening helping the others, and was only now starting his own essay. 

"Well, don't stay up too late."

"I won't, I'm almost finished. The topic isn't all that interesting, you know, Newton died of old age. Everyone was disappointed."

"A shame your punishment wasn't suitably entertaining."

Bellamy hid a smile. "Yes, sir. Oh, Abb-er, Dr Griffin left this before she took Monty and the girls upstairs. She said if you came in - well, here."

He passed over a neatly folded sheet of paper from the table and Kane unfolded it, finding only a short typed message that read:

_Dear Captain von Kane,_  
_You will be unsurprised to find that I am a woman of science, not of letters. Which is why this particular letter will be brief, only precisely long enough to inform you of my unwillingness to produce an article of scholarly writing at your command._  
_I am, however, prepared to give a lecture on Our Friend's three laws of motion, which you are invited to attend at your convenience, so long as you don't mind having bark on your trousers._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Abigail Griffin, Dr. rer. nat._

He snorted.

"Did she write something funny?" Bellamy said.

"Not at all."

"You smiled, that's all."

He cleared his throat as he refolded the note. "Dr Griffin is not nearly so amusing as she thinks she is."

"Monty wanted to type his paragraph, too. She helped him even though it took over an hour and it would have been much quicker for him to write by hand."

"Did she."

"Everyone was restless this afternoon, it's been raining all week and we've been inside so much. That's why she wanted us to go for a walk, and it was only for an hour or two."

"I see."

"Most of the time, almost every day, we take lessons in the schoolroom like we're supposed to. You only ever pay attention when we don't."

"Bellamy."

"I'm sorry, but don't act as if she isn't -"

"Isn't what?"

"The best tutor we've ever had. The only one we've ever liked before. And she's more than that, too."

"I know. I do know that perfectly well. Although, whether you like your tutor is not my primary concern - her competence is." He held up a hand as Bellamy started to argue again. "That's enough, now. Finish your work and get to bed." He patted the boy's shoulder before he left to show he wasn't angry.

And he wasn't angry, though he was a little surprised. 

He had known the children were fond of their tutor - strange enough compared to how they had previously regarded anyone trying to teach them. He realised the camaraderie he often witnessed between the children and Dr Griffin went beyond simple enjoyment of her ridiculous lessons and Bohemian style of teaching. 

They counted her quite as one of their own, as if they had adopted her, his brood of recalcitrant orphans. They didn't even seem resentful that this afternoon's excursion had resulted in an impromptu homework assignment. They were commiserating with her, in fact. 

He thought of the way Bellamy - of all people - had first leapt to intervene when Dr Griffin had quailed under his questioning at dinner. The rest of them eagerly followed suit. And now Bellamy had spoken up in her defence again, making a direct appeal on her behalf.

She hadn't just secured the children's affection, she had earned their loyalty. No one had ever done that before, except him.

\---

  
One or two nights later he saw her outside walking on the terrace. This wasn't one of the absurd astronomy lessons he pretended not to know about, she was out there alone, seemingly not doing anything but looking out over the gardens towards the dark, silent river. It was past when most of the children would be already asleep; he had no claim on her free time. If she wanted to stand out there on a cold night in November she was welcome to, though he was glad to note the thick shawl around her shoulders.

He could see her through the French doors from where he sat at the desk in his study. He didn't mean to watch her, precisely. He was already watching her before he realised what he was doing, his thoughts turning as they often did to the problem of Dr Griffin.

The problem with Dr Griffin wasn't that the children clearly adored her - he wasn't so selfish as to think they should reserve their affections only for him. She was equally devoted to them which took her far in his estimation. 

And the problem wasn't that she was frivolous with the children's time and indulged their childish whims - her disregard for rules could be infuriating but somehow she still managed to be a competent teacher. That was, in the end, all he required of her. He carefully monitored the children's examination results and they had all improved, most notably in the areas of mathematics and science, since she had taken the job.

The problem with Dr Griffin was not what Bellamy thought it was. 

The real trouble with Abigail Griffin was far more complicated than that, because he knew what he felt for her. And yet she was not someone for whom he should feel anything. She was a grieving widow, and she was his subordinate, and the children wanted to keep her; all of these things informed his responsibilities in the matter far more than his personal interest. 

He simply found her amusing, and attractive, and exasperating. And he wasn't entirely certain she did not feel the same about him. But one thing he did know was how she had reacted when something of what he felt had been revealed the night they danced together. She had been quite plainly mortified, and had run away upstairs as soon as she could. 

And things had been tense for a few weeks after that, until they managed to reach an equilibrium again. He didn't want to disturb it. He _should not_ disturb it.

So that was that.

At some point he rose from his desk and approached the door, leaning against the frame to continue watching her through the glass. He imagined going out to join her without any real intention of doing so. He would leave her to her thoughts. He could see better from here, though, and saw she was contemplating something held in the palm of her hand. After a minute or two she held up what he could now see was a necklace, which she fastened back around her neck.

He had noticed that she always wore something on a fine silver chain, though he had never seen what it was, the length of it always hidden under her high-necked blouses. No doubt a locket or perhaps a cross; some keepsake of her husband, he assumed, since she never removed it as far as he knew. 

It wasn't right to think about how lovely she was standing there in the shadows, her bright, intelligent eyes soft and thoughtful. Not when she was likely thinking about the husband she had lost.

It wasn't right, but he stood there thinking about little else until she turned and went back inside.

\---

  
He did his best. Harbouring an attraction for his children's tutor was banal in the extreme and he would have put a stop to it at once if it had been a simple matter of wishing it away. He made a concerted effort to avoid it - and, by extension, her.

The trouble was, even when he didn't seek out her company, he shared a home with the woman. She was not exactly easy to avoid.

A natural course of action might have been for him to go out as much as possible, occupying his time away from the house. But he was doing that less these days. More specifically he was seeing less of Diana and her friends.

Severing that particular social tie had not been unwelcome on more than one front. Anyone with the slightest political interest of late spoke of nothing but unification, of Germany, of war, and the likelihood that these things were coming, as if they were already unavoidable. 

He wouldn't associate with anyone who added their voice to the growing number in Austria who supported the _Anschluss_. Had he been inclined to socialise much in those days he would have found his social circle shrinking at an alarming rate. 

But he wasn't, and he didn't miss them. He much preferred being at home with his family. Indeed, there was far more keeping him here - and this was the uncomfortable irony of the situation. More and more he wanted to be exactly where he should not.

Dr Griffin had never been one to limit her movements even in those early days when he was constantly on the verge of sacking her - when perhaps some discretion on her part might have been wise. Now, secure in her position within the household, she would never change her habits. She would go where she pleased, and he would seemingly encounter her everywhere whether he wanted to or not.

When he lead the children in their morning drills on the lawn he would invariably find his eyes drawn up to her window to catch the moment she threw open the curtains. Sometimes she would linger there, watching them. Sometimes she was a fleeting figure passing to and fro behind the glass while brushing her hair or folding clothes, leaving him to wonder how she could be so active at this hour and still manage to be late for breakfast more often than not.

He had grown too used to seeing her at the opposite end of the dining table. Or seeing her in the hall upstairs when saying goodnight to the girls, or finding her bent over her typewriter in the library.

His only haven, other than his bedroom, was his study, but he could not confine himself entirely to those two rooms. It was ridiculous hiding in his own house like an ostrich with its head in the sand. Dr Griffin was not that fearsome. One night he deliberately spent several hours reading in one of the high-backed armchairs in the library, a fire in the grate and brandy at his elbow. No one disturbed him. He felt vindicated. His house was his own.

He relaxed. And fell asleep - after perhaps a little too much of the brandy - and woke some time later with a stiff neck and the sense that he was not alone.

His chair faced the fire, which had died to embers by now. He heard someone moving around behind him and closed his eyes. He knew who he would see when he turned to look. The children wouldn't likely roam about so late, and none of the servants would roam about _here_. There was only one remaining member of the household. 

He shifted round to look past the wide wing of the chair to see her wandering along the wall of floor-to-ceiling shelves that ran along the length of the room on that side. He didn't know if she had seen him sleeping and decided not to wake him, or if she had missed his presence entirely. 

After watching her for a minute he suspected the latter. 

She continued perusing the books, moving the ladder aside absently when it was in the way, only to stop and give it a more careful, assessing look. She moved the ladder back and forth on its rails a few times, testing it out. He knew instantly that this grown woman was thinking of stepping onto the ladder and pushing off to send herself careening along the wall.

Once he had come upon Harper having a fine time riding the ladder along its rails. After she had climbed down shame-faced, he had taken the book from her hand and gave her a swat on the backside with it as a sharp reminder of proper decorum indoors. 

Observing Dr Griffin from his concealed position, he entertained a brief but satisfying fantasy of giving her the same treatment. Only if she behaved in such a foolish manner, of course. Though he suddenly rather hoped that she would.

Dr Griffin demonstrated as little regard for his wishes in this as ever. Her preoccupation with the ladder was forgotten when she caught sight of a book that seemed to please her.

He was too curious now and couldn't let her wander out again without letting her know of his presence. All it took was him standing up, the movement in the corner of her eye catching her attention.

She jumped round, clutching the book to her chest in shock. "My God, Captain, I didn't know you were there."

"So I gathered." He crossed the room to where she stood against the bookshelves, watching him approach.

"I couldn't sleep, I thought a new book might help."

"And?" He nodded at the book which she still held to her chest.

"Oh, this one isn't new at all. _Jane Eyre_ , an old favourite."

"What an apt selection."

"Why?" she asked, and then frowned. "I'm not a governess."

"Yes, well I..."

Her eyes narrowed further. "Do you fancy yourself Mr Rochester?"

"No, I - certainly not." He flushed as he realised what she was implying - or rather, what she seemed to think _he_ had implied by making the comparison. "I only meant that, while this may not be a gothic mansion, we do happen to have a mad woman roaming the halls in the middle of the night."

Her eyes lit with amusement, though she demurred. "I don't know what you mean."

"Come to think of it, you did set the house on fire the other day, did you not?"

"You know about that? What, in the conservatory?"

"There have been others instances of arson?"

She considered that for a moment too long. "No."

"Doctor -"

"Why didn't you say anything when I first came in? You scared me half to death."

"I was asleep. I fell asleep reading, only woke up when you began playing with the ladder. I've had to punish the children for doing that, you know."

Her mouth dropped open slightly, and he thought she was about to protest the accusation. _I wasn't playing with anything, Captain._ But she simply stared up at him for a moment before her jaw shut firmly again. 

He didn't know what was showing on his face at that moment but her eyes avoided his suddenly, a faint smile playing on her lips that gave her a knowing air, as if he was completely transparent to her. But she couldn't possibly have guessed the kind of thoughts he had been entertaining while watching her in secret just now. Surely not.

"Poetry?" she said, while carefully rearranging her shawl.

He blinked. "What about it?"

"Is that was you were reading? Always puts me to sleep."

"And what of English romances?"

"Oh, they put me to sleep, too, but with better dreams."

He didn't know what to say to that. She blushed slightly and seemed to suffer the same problem.

"Milton," he said at last, as the silence stretched into awkwardness. "I was reading 'Paradise Lost'."

"Oh. Isn't that a morality tale?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"What an apt selection," she parroted back. "You might do better with the romance novel."

He very badly wanted to argue with her. It was a sign that he absolutely should not. She had tempted him enough for one night. "Go to bed, Dr Griffin."

"I'm still not a child you can send to her room when she's being troublesome, Captain."

"All the more reason," he muttered, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

"Well, aren't you coming, too? It's very late."

"Yes, of course."

He realised as soon as it was said that it was a terrible idea. It was impossible to ignore how intimate it would seem, going up to bed together, walking side by side through the dark, silent house, just the two of them. Even though they would part at the top of the staircase, she to her room, he to his, the implication of something quite different happening could not be ignored by either of them.

Certainly not by him, not now he had contemplated, imagined, that very thing.

"Go ahead, Doctor. I will - I need to -" He cast around the large room, trying to think of something that required his attention. "The books. I need to put them away."

"Oh, of course." He thought he heard relief in her voice, but it might have been something else. "Well, good night."

\---

  
The terrace was a disaster of paper and glue and string and children, who sat or lay all over the place busy at work.

From the stoop he surveyed the chaos, the focal-point of which approached and came to stand beside him. 

"Yes, they are educational," she said. "I know you were going to ask."

"I didn't need to, they're making toys to play with."

"They will learn a lot about aeronautics. And... weather."

He looked at her sidelong. She wasn't even trying. He found it vaguely disappointing.

"It's far too cold for the children to be running outside all day flying kites."

"They have their winter coats and boots. It's a clear day, the wind is just right for kite-flying, and I thought... It will be snowing soon and they won't have as much time to be outside. Unless you give them the sleds they want for Christmas."

"I want them to waste less time with such nonsense, not more, Doctor."

"Will you put coal in their stockings, too?"

He opened his mouth to respond but there was a tug at his sleeve. "Father? Will you help me with mine, please?"

He looked down at Monty, mournfully holding up his very crooked attempt. Was the child holding the kite or was it glued to his hand?

He did not approve of the children skipping lessons to play outdoors. No matter how often Dr Griffin attempted to convince him otherwise he would not change his stance on the matter. And yet somehow he found himself knelt on the paving stones with Monty, occupying himself with paper and glue and string.

He ignored Dr Griffin and what he was sure must be a very self-satisfied expression on her face.

He ignored her until he forgot to ignore her, and his eyes sought her out naturally as they had at some point learned to do. She was speaking with Raven, who needed no help with her impressively constructed kite that almost looked as if it could launch into the air of its own volition.

"The tail should ideally be at least four times as long as the kite is tall," Clarke said, drawing his attention from her mother's direction. "Most people make them too short." She was sitting nearby tying knotted bowties in the string that would make up her kite's tail. 

He considered the tail he was constructing, tying twists of paper at intervals along the length of string. "Ours might need to be longer," he told Monty, who nodded obligingly. He had no reason to doubt Clarke's advice. "You sound as if you know what you are talking about."

"My father could make an excellent kite."

"He was an engineer, I understand."

She nodded, focusing intently on her knots. "I would help him and then we would go out to fly it together in the park. We hadn't done that in ages, though, when he... I suppose I was too old by then, to go out flying kites with my father."

"Where is your father?" Monty asked with the frank innocence of a 6-year-old.

"Oh... he died."

"So did mine. My _other_ father died," Monty corrected hastily, looking up as if keen to reassure the man who was currently building his entire kite for him that he was not unappreciated. "And so did my other mother. We were going home from the market in our cart and there was a big crash in the road."

Kane's hands paused on the string as his brain took a moment to sort out what Monty had just said. His _other mother_ died? Meaning perhaps that the boy considered himself to have someone else filling that role in his life now.

He looked up to see Clarke frowning slightly in thought. She met his eyes over Monty's head, and then quite involuntarily they both turned to look in Dr Griffin's direction. She had Octavia kneeling in front of her, retying one of the girl's braids which had come undone in the wind.

Clarke turned her attention back to her kite, and he turned his attention back to Monty's, and they let the awkward moment pass by without comment.

\---

  
The clear skies which had facilitated an afternoon of aerial frivolity did not last, the strong breeze bringing worse weather by the time darkness had fallen. There was rain on the eaves when they sat down to dinner that had only increased by the time everyone had gone to bed.

He found himself lying awake in the dark as a bad storm passed over, the crash of thunder too loud to allow sleep. When it didn't abate he sat up and reached for the lamp, thinking he might read.

He was half expecting to see Octavia, for sometimes when she woke in the night she would leave her bed and come running across the house to his room, uncaring if she woke him up when she threw open the door and came to his bedside to tell him about some bad dream or other. Of all the children, Octavia was the one most likely to be so demanding. The others had been with him for less time and were naturally a little more reserved, or else they had come to him when they were too old to require comforting of that sort. Octavia, however, had been doing this for as long as she could walk, and at the age of seven had yet to grow out of it.

He didn't mind it, really, it was part of the responsibility he'd adopted along with these seven orphans. Sometimes it meant standing over a sullen teenager while he copied out 'I will not throw my Latin dictionary on the ground' 100 times, and sometimes it meant buying socks by the crate-load because the children somehow seemed to wear through the things like tissue paper, and sometimes it meant being woken in the middle of the night to escort a frightened little girl back to bed and sit with her until she fell back asleep.

When there was another, much louder loud crash of thunder he closed his book, listening for the tell-tale patter of feet approaching over the growing sound of the wind and rain. None came and he put aside the book and stood up, tying the belt of his velvet dressing gown as he left his room and ventured out to check on things.

He came to Bellamy's room first, the door of which stood open, and he saw quickly that the bed was empty. The large nursery room where John, Nathan, and Monty slept was similarly unoccupied.  
He stopped cold when he saw those three empty beds side by side, the covers of each thrown back.

He was suddenly thinking of the kites, and Benjamin Franklin, and a woman who could find the flimsiest excuse for a science lesson - but no. Surely that infernal woman wouldn't lead the children out into a storm to be struck by lightning.

Surely even _she_ wouldn't go that far.

All the same, he moved on at an increased pace as he crossed the landing, making his way quickly to the opposite wing of the house where the girls' rooms were located.

All of the doors along the hallway were open just as the boys' had been, but before he could glance into the first of the rooms, shared by Harper and Octavia, he heard voices from several doors down.

They were in Dr Griffin's room. He could see them through the door which stood half open. 

Somehow all four girls, plus Monty, were squeezed into the bed with the Doctor under the covers, the little ones huddled as close to her as they could get while she encircled them in her arms. John and Nathan were occupying the foot of the bed, and Bellamy had drawn a chair over close by. 

None of the older children seemed particularly bothered by the storm, not like Monty and Octavia who hid their faces with every thunderclap. Or Nathan, who attempted to appear brave but still jumped whenever the next crash came. 

Bellamy, Raven, John - they were too old to be scared and yet here they were gathered around Dr Griffin. He could only assume because they were welcome. Because she was offering something and they didn't want to miss out.

It was clear what that something was. 

She was the mother of only one of the children present but in that moment it hardly mattered that the others weren't really hers.

He couldn't help the treacherous thought that they could be. She already acted as though she was their mother in some ways, regardless of her official position in the household. As Monty had betrayed that afternoon, for him and probably some of the other children, too, the distinction meant little to them.

He suspected it didn't matter to Dr Griffin, either. She was only supposed to teach the children; he was not paying her to love them. That was something she did all on her own. 

He couldn't properly hear what she was saying to them, but they were all paying attention as they tended to whenever she spoke. He meant to leave then, feeling oddly as if he was intruding, but Bellamy chose that moment to look over and see him, and then he had no choice but to push the door open to go in.

"Captain. The storm woke everyone up," Dr Griffin explained needlessly.

"Yes, I saw everyone was out of their beds."

Bellamy stood up and Nathan too scrambled off the bed, trying to maintain some dignity as he came to attention in his nightshirt. John took the opportunity to sprawl across the foot of the bed now he had the space to himself.

"I trust everyone is all right?"

"The girls were scared," Nathan said, "but Abby's telling us how the wind makes the thunder."

"You're scared, too," John said.

"No, I'm not!" Nathan retorted, jumping when his words were punctuated by a loud crack of thunder. 

Kane put a hand on his shoulder to calm him but at that moment all of the lights went out and the house was plunged into darkness. 

Nathan clutched at his arm and there were several alarmed cries from the bed and then everyone started exclaiming about the electricity failing and over the din he had to raise his voice to be heard.

"Everyone be quiet and stay exactly where you are!" There was silence except for the continued sound of rain and wind. He didn't want them all to start falling out of bed or tripping in the dark, but two seconds later there was the sound of the bedsprings creaking as someone climbed out. 

"Don't worry, there's no need to be scared," Dr Griffin said, because naturally she had heard 'be quiet and stay where you are' and done the exact opposite. Her outline appeared in the dark as she groped her way towards them. "Nathan, here, why don't you take my spot in bed, and help look after your little brother and sisters. The Captain and I will go and find some candles."

She found Nathan and guided him back over to the bed.

"There's no need, Doctor, remain here with them, I'll be back shortly."

"I don't like the dark," Harper complained. 

"We're perfectly all right," Clarke said. "We're all together, and we're going to tell stories. That's always more fun in the dark. Bellamy, tell us a story."

"Ah, all right, well..."

"There you are," Dr Griffin said, very close by suddenly, her hand groping towards him to pat at his chest. "I hope you know where the candles are kept."

"I know. Once, on the isle of Crete," Bellamy began, "Queen Pasiphae had given birth to a monster."

"Bellamy," he protested. "Can you not think of something else?"

"I wasn't going to include how the story begins, only the rest of it."

"How does it begin?" Raven asked.

"Never mind," her father said quickly. The real answer, how the queen became pregnant with a half-man, half-bull in the first place, was not one he wished any of them to know - bad enough that Bellamy apparently did.

"Weren't you the one reading them 'Faust'?" Dr Griffin said.

"I read 'Faust' to John when he was much older than Monty is now. And it did him good."

"It did me a great deal of good," John agreed. "Fascinating stuff. And now I want to hear about the monster."

There were several more enthusiastic agreements and he rolled his eyes. "Very well. Proceed."

"We'll be back soon." Dr Griffin took his arm and he decided there was no point arguing with her. "Now where's the door?" she muttered as Bellamy continued his story.

"King Minos was upset about the monstrous child, which had grown huge and vicious, and so he consulted the great Oracle of Delphi about what to do."

With Dr Griffin keeping hold of his arm so as not to lose him, the two of them made their way from the room. It was even darker in the hallway, with fewer windows, but it was a straight path towards the stairs and he lead the way without trouble. 

"There are candles in the cabinet in the dining room," he said. There would be others, less formal, stored elsewhere in the house, but the ones in the dining room he was sure he could find without too much trouble.

"Oh wait," she said, tugging him left when he would have gone right at the landing. "I have a lantern in the schoolroom, it's closer."

Her hand slipped down into his. She was always holding the children's hands, she probably thought nothing of it. He cleared his throat. "The lantern you use when you go out into the gardens in the middle of the night for your astronomy class?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, I remember you strictly forbade those."

"Then why do you keep the lantern on hand?"

"In case of thunderstorms."

He sighed. "I was half afraid you would take them outside to string a brass key from one of the kites in the storm."

They had found the schoolroom door and she paused there. "What an exciting idea. Next time there's a storm -"

"No."

Her heard her soft laugh. Her hand was still in his. "Experimenting with lightning didn't occur to me - I didn't even hear the thunder, I was fast asleep and then suddenly the bed was full of children."

"They shouldn't have disturbed you."

"The little ones were scared."

"And the others?"

"Came to keep us company, or to check on us. Like you did." She finally pushed the door open and stepped through.

He followed, only to find she had turned back abruptly, and they collided in the narrow doorway. 

"Oh," she gasped as his hands moved to her waist to steady her. He realised the noise of the storm had lessened considerably because all he could hear was her breathing, which seemed very loud in the sudden silence and when she moved her head her hair brushed his jaw. A second later she took several steps backward. "Stay there, I know where it is."

He slowly let out the breath he had been holding and listened to her make her way across the dark room. There was a crash and a low curse.

"Doctor?"

"I'm fine. There are too many desks in this room," she muttered. "Here you are." With some more rummaging the room was suddenly lit by a warm glow, and there she was returning from the back corner, lantern held aloft. A vision in white.

He thought again of mad women haunting the house in the night - except he was the one who felt slightly mad as his hands tingled, remembering the feel of her small waist through nothing but the nightgown she was wearing.

"Now we can find the candles. How long do you think until the electricity is repaired?" she said as he backed out of the doorway, giving her a wide berth as she came out after him.

"Not until tomorrow, I should think."

They were near enough to the stairs they could see someone below, also with a light, coming up towards them. It was Frau Sinclair with a lit candelabra and several more candles and holders weighing down the pockets of her dressing gown.

"I thought there might be someone up," she said when she met them at the top of the stairs. "What a storm that was."

If the housekeeper thought anything of the two of them wandering alone together in the darkened house, she kept it entirely to herself.

\---

  
He did not usually join the family at lunch; he ate in town when he was there on business during the week or at the recreational club where he was a member, and when at home he took a tray in his study where he enjoyed the quiet meal by himself.

Today however he left the remains of his meal and went to the dining room with the letter he had just read.

"I have just received some news," he began, standing at the head of the table behind his normal place, which was currently occupied by Nathan.

"Is it about the Baroness?" Raven said, sounding less than enthused at the prospect. 

He was surprised at the question, if only because he had thought so little, and seen less, of the Baroness of late. But the children weren't aware that his friendship - if that was the word for it - with Diana had stuttered very effectively to a halt since since she had stayed here at the villa as his guest. 

Having her here, in his home, had solidified something in his mind he had always suspected was true. He had been willing to fit into her world, finding it no great hardship engaging in the idle enjoyments she and her circle indulged in to pass the time. But Diana could never bridge that gap in return. It was no use, it would never have worked between them, and in the end he believed they both knew it.

And surely this knowledge was made all the more obvious by the presence of another in his life, someone who had made a place for herself with his family so effectively he could scarcely recall how the household had functioned without her.

Looking back it was only surprising he had not figured it all out sooner. It would have saved both him and Diana the trouble, if he had.

Raven, for her trouble, received an elbow in the side from Clarke.

"What?" Raven hissed. "I keep thinking she'll show up again when we least expect it, like Octavia's snake."

He cleared his throat. "No, Raven, it is in fact from a person you have not met, although I have told her about you. In my next letter I will have to mention how respectfully you speak of your elders."

He was gratified by her chastised expression, and ignored every other show of amusement around the table at the comparison she had drawn.

Dr Griffin schooled her features before speaking. "So what is your news, Captain?"

"My mother has apparently returned from her recent trip abroad. She has settled back in Bologna, and sends her regards to us all," which was rather understating the effusive sentiment that always characterised his mother's missives. "As well as, I believe, a large parcel containing presents and treats from her travels, which is waiting to be opened in the foyer. But -" he held up a hand to forestall the immediate enthusiasm that greeted the news "- you will only receive them if you have been behaving yourselves. Have you?" Predictably he met with affirmatives all around. "Well, have they been good, Doctor?"

"They're always good. But... oh I think they've been especially good lately." 

The children stopped staring imploringly at her, and switched back to him. He tipped his head in the direction of the door. "Go."

While seven children formed a stampede from the room, he belatedly realised there was one remaining in her seat.

"I'm sorry there won't be anything for you, Clarke. My mother has been travelling for some time and we don't correspond often, she doesn't know there is another child staying with us, last she heard, there were seven."

"Oh, that's all right."

"If there are sweets - and I'm sure there will be, knowing my mother - I'll have them divided up so you don't miss out."

"Truly, I don't mind. She isn't my grandmother, after all. Besides, none of the others ever make a fuss about the things I get to have that they miss out on."

"What sort of things?"

"Oh..." She frowned slightly as if the answer was obvious, and then shared a look with her mother, who seemed to understand. "Well, none of them have a mother, and I do. She always does her best not to show me special treatment in our lessons, but the rest of the time she's just my mother and so I do get special treatment sometimes - or different treatment, anyway."

Dr Griffin reached over to touch her arm. "That's nothing for you to worry about, darling."

"I'm not worried. But I know you feel guilty sometimes. And Captain, it might not be _fair_ , but it doesn't always have to be. It isn't exactly fair when Mother has her day off and takes me to town, and we do all sorts of lovely things none of your children get to do, like go to the cinema, or eat ice-cream, or have coffee and cake at the museum. But then, I don't have a father, and they do. It's just the way it is."

In the silence that followed Clarke's speech they could hear sounds of excitement from the foyer. Clarke pushed out her chair, hesitating briefly to ask, "May I go and see what everyone got?" 

She was up and on the move almost before either adult could grant permission, which they both did, in unison: "Yes, you're excused." And so after watching her go they were left alone to regard each other somewhat self-consciously.

"I don't know what to do with her, sometimes," Dr Griffin confessed, leaning back in her seat. "Other than be grateful she is on my side."

"I do take her point," he said after a moment, "but I will still make sure the children share with her."

"I'm sure they would, anyway, you needn't make them." She paused, reconsidering. "Some of them would."

"Then it will be good for _all_ of them to do so."

"I don't think you took Clarke's point at all. I think you missed it."

"And you, Doctor, do you really feel guilty for taking your own child out and feeding her ice-cream?"

"No, I don't feel guilty about that. I think she deserves spoiling every now and then. When I can I like to give her whatever she wants - and she never asks for much."

"She likely finds it enough of a treat having you to herself for the day. The rest of the time she must share, whether she wants to or not."

"Don't you think we're too frivolous? There's nothing educational about a matinee show or eating ice cream in a café."

"There isn't? You can't think of a single justification? I'm disappointed, this is as bad as the kites."

"Didn't you enjoy flying kites with the children, though? I thought you did, just a little. You didn't just let them, you -"

"I've learned to pick my battles with your... eccentricities, Doctor."

"Is that why you let them have their presents from your mother now, when it's twenty minutes past when we should have started our afternoon lessons?"

His eyes reluctantly slid away from her over to the ornate mantel clock to discover for himself the truth of her words.

He was forced to concede. "There may be some merit in allowing certain indulgences now and then. Even if they don't gain anything but stomach pains from too many sweets. I never realised how severely they were being deprived."

His tone was light as he said this but she must have caught the truth behind it because her answer was far more sincere:

"You've given them so much, they have everything they could want."

"Not everything."

As Clarke had observed so simply, they did not have a mother. 

He wondered if she caught the truth this time, if she knew what he meant but didn't say.

Sometimes their eyes would meet and he would think yes, surely, they understood one another. This was not something he alone was experiencing.

But then she would look away, as she did now. He was made to remember that sometimes, when she was alone with none of the children around requiring her attention, when she thought she was not being observed, she looked sad.

And he remembered how angry she had seemed with him when she had told him about visiting her husband's grave; how chastised he had felt at that moment, for daring to intrude upon what was clearly her very private grief. He remembered how she had reacted the night of the party, after they danced, how she couldn't meet his eye, and the way she had shied from him during the recent electrical outage when they had come too close in the dark. 

When he remembered all of this it was simple enough to quell the elation he often felt merely being in her presence. Even if she did harbour some sort of feelings for him, she clearly wasn't ready to acknowledge them. 

He knew he should leave her be. It was the right thing to do and perhaps one day... something would change. 

He would simply have to be patient.

He would normally have counted himself as a patient man. But unfortunately one area in which Dr Griffin excelled was in provoking him, and dismantling his preconceived notions. And in the end he was not nearly as patient as he should have been.

\---

  
He left his study late one night and down the hall he saw the lights on in the library and followed the clacking of the typewriter to the doorway.

Dr Griffin was at the table in the corner, as he expected. She was dressed for bed in dressing gown and slippers, loose braid over her shoulder. She didn't notice him, though at this angle she would have only needed to turn her head an inch to see he was there. She was in her own little world as she finished typing and drew out the page, quickly reading over what she had written before folding it and looking for an envelope. 

He should have retreated and continued on his way to bed. But then she began humming. 

He had known this woman for the better part of a year now and he had never known her to utter a single note before. The tune was familiar, and it took only a moment for him to realise what it was.

After that, he had no choice but to go in. 

"Oh, Captain," she said, finally noticing him. 

She remained seated as he approached. "You're up late, Doctor."

"So are you. I was in bed, actually, but then I was thinking about..." she trailed off as she looked up at him. 

"What were you thinking?"

"Oh," she blinked and focused back on the envelop she was addressing. "Microbiology. I correspond with an old school friend, she's a professor at Bern. I never liked the field much but I had some thoughts about an article she published recently. I wanted to get them down before I went to sleep and forgot all about it."

"Romance novels put you to sleep, and microbiology keeps you up." 

"Something like that." She set the sealed letter aside and stood up. It was then she looked down and seemed to realise her state of dress, tying her loose dressing gown properly closed.

This was becoming a habit, seeing her so late in the evening like this. Realising this, he questioned his own behaviour - was he seeking her out, trying to catch her alone? But the night of the storm didn't count, and the last time he had encountered her here in the library she had only come along after he had fallen asleep by accident. 

Those two instances were pure chance. But this night, yes he had sought her out as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

The next words from her mouth proved she too was aware of the developing pattern.

"I'm sorry, I feel as if you've seen me dressed for bed more often than wearing proper clothes lately."

"You have made yourself quite at home," was his reply, and he couldn't have injected a sting with the words if he had tried.

The truth was he liked it, her overly familiar habits and casual way she had adopted his large, echoing house as a home for herself. What had irritated him at first gradually became a source of occasional bewilderment or bemusement, and now - now it seemed just right.

"What were you singing just now?" he said.

"I wasn't singing."

"The Ländler, wasn't it? Were you thinking of my birthday?"

"No, I wasn't -"

"You were singing."

"Humming," she conceded, lifting her chin. There was a certain light in her eyes that caused him to be bold.

"I've thought of that night often, when we danced."

"Have you?"

"Yes. I think we have been remiss in our responsibilities. Eight Austrian children between us, and not one of them can dance a decent Ländler. They'll need further instruction if they are not to be a disgrace to the nation."

Her amusement was clear. "And we can't have that."

"Indeed, we cannot." 

An idea, an irresistible idea, had occurred to him the moment he heard her humming. He turned away from her and crossed the room to where a little-used gramophone that was older than Bellamy sat upon a lacquered cabinet.

"Are you going to add dance classes to the curriculum?" she said, trailing after him. 

"I see no other choice."

He opened the cabinet to access the small collection of records. He knew there was a suitable Ländler waltz among them, and found it soon enough and straightened to set it on the turn-table. The machine hadn't been used in some time, but it was well-made and reliable, and after cranking the handle the record spun and he carefully dropped the needle into place, filling the room with music.

He turned to face her. She was regarding him with a slight smile that was growing ever more knowing.

"Should I wake them? The children. This is for their benefit, isn't it?" she said.

"I think we need to properly prepare the lesson before we can give it."

"You and your lesson plans." She looked away as a wider smile broke across her face.

"Really I'm just giving you the chance to practice. You need it."

"Me?" She faced him again instantly, and found the hand he had extended towards her. 

A moment passed, and she accepted it. And with the next count of three they were dancing.

"I seem to remember you were the one who trod on my foot," she said.

"It would only have been because you..."

"What? What did I do?"

"Don't you know?" They turned and twirled, hands grasping, parting, coming together again. All of his cautious resolve had abandoned him, and he said, "I'm surprised I could remember the steps at all with you looking at me like you did that night."

"How did I look at you, Captain?"

"Like you wanted me to kiss you."

His heart was beating ever faster as her eyes darted away and then back to his. "That's nothing," she said, "you should have seen the way you were looking at me."

"How was that?"

"Like you were about to. If only there hadn't been an audience." 

He had no reply for that, too busy catching her gaze drop briefly to his lips.

He knew what she was thinking, that this time when the music stopped he would have no reason not to kiss her. He was thinking the same thing. There was no audience. They were alone and he thought - he hoped - that what had not been true then had perhaps changed in the time since. He thought that she might be ready now. 

She had turned away from him the last time they danced. Tonight, with the hem of her nightgown swirling around her ankles as they moved in time to the music, her eyes staring back into his seemed full of warmth and anticipation. A mirror to his own.

There wasn't enough room here for them to perform the dance as well as they had the night of the party. There were chairs and tables in the way, and lamps in odd places. Their movements were limited by the lack of space and, perhaps more importantly, by their lack of attention to the proper steps. 

The impromptu dance came to a stop suddenly when they passed so close to the bookshelves along the wall they might have bumped into them. Instead he brought them up short, deliberately halting their progress mid-turn, because it seemed foolish to him to prolong this any further.

The music played on as he stepped forward, pressing her back gently against the shelves. Her mouth fell open with a small, quick intake of breath, and the warmth he thought he saw before blazed now in unmistakeable desire as she gazed up at him.

He bent to close the remaining distance between them, and he kissed her deeply. And she didn't shy away or turn him down, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her lips soft, warm, welcoming against his. 

_Finally,_ he thought. Yes, at last.

The kiss went on for an age until they parted, breathless, their foreheads pressing together as they marvelled at this new knowledge they now shared between them. 

"What are we doing?" she whispered, laying her hand against his cheek.

He turned his face to kiss her palm. He pulled her closer. The shape of her hips under his hands was maddening and all he wanted was to kiss her again.

Her next words stayed him: "And what happens tomorrow?"

He drew back to properly meet her eyes. He saw that she wasn't pushing him away, these were sensible questions and he was glad one of them was still capable of sense. 

He smiled. "We can talk about tomorrow if you want. As for tonight, well, I'm not - I wouldn't... ask you to sleep with me."

"Oh." She blinked. "You wouldn't? Why not?"

Because he hadn't really thought that far ahead, but he knew that as much as he wanted her - and god knew he did, the longer she was in his arms with nothing but her nightgown and robe separating his hands from her skin the more he wanted her - still he knew that to have her now, like this, wouldn't be right. If he had his way there would be many nights to come for the two of them.

"I wouldn't ask you for that. But I will ask -" 

"What?" It came out apprehensive and she withdrew a little, her former confidence seeming to desert her. And with it, so did his.

"I... Well I was thinking I'd ask to kiss you again."

Her lips turned up in a slow smile. "It's polite of you to ask." The smile twitched and twisted slightly. "You may."

He leaned towards her only to find her hand suddenly blocking his path.

"Wait. First..." She looked around till her eye lighted on the nearest armchair. With only the slightest urging he let her guide him, bemused at first and then increasingly enamoured as she made him sit and followed him down, seating herself on his lap. Her arms went around his neck. "Now, go ahead."

What could he do but obey? Over and over again.

"What if I wanted to sleep with you?" she said in a low voice by his ear and he groaned, clutching her tighter. She would try the morals of a saint. And he was no saint.

"You shouldn't tempt a man like that." The words came out more of a plea than a warning. And since she seemed to have no qualms about discussing it he was driven to ask, "Would you come to bed with me if I asked?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you should ask me and see." Her reply was teasing, but then she grew more serious. She looked away from him self-consciously. "I've never done anything like that - had an affair, I mean. There was only ever..."

"Your husband, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest - I would never disrespect him or your marriage. I'm sure you -"

She stopped him from speaking further, shaking her head as she lay a gentle hand on his face. "Don't. I can't. Not when we're - for heaven's sake, I'm sitting on your knee, don't ask me to talk about my husband right now."

"I'm sorry."

He subsided, unsure what she wanted from him. He simply held her hand, the brush of his thumb over her fingers drawing her attention after a moment. She frowned down at their joined hands in her lap. 

"We don't have to talk." She turned her hand over to grasp his and lead it to her waist. "Marcus, just kiss me if you're going to."

She didn't wait to see if he would, pressing her lips back to his with such gentle passion he responded without thinking. What use were rational thoughts when she was offering herself up to him like this? He kissed her back, eager for more of her, so glad to have her in his arms finally, knowing she wanted this, too.

Because if she really did want this, if she felt the same, then this was only the start. 

For all the delightful distraction she posed with her kisses and her hands running through his hair and over his shoulders, his mind began to work again as it raced ahead to the future. To everything that lay before them, after tonight.

He pulled his lips from hers. "Wait. This isn't an affair. I don't want just a night with you, I want - I want -"

"I know. It's like a dream, isn't it?"

"I want so much more. I never thought... that I was missing anything. I never realised the children were missing anything that I couldn't give them. You've shown me - you've shown me so much."

"Shhh." She kissed any further proclamations from his lips. 

They didn't sleep together that night, though it was a close thing. Few things in his life had been more difficult than releasing her from his arms when all he wanted was to sweep her up and carry her to his bed. 

Instead, he very firmly insisted that she go to her room at once and stay there.

She was, unsurprisingly, as disinclined to listen to him as ever, but after laughing a little and suggesting he should try the whistle, she was persuaded to go following a final tender kiss. She left him with a lingering glance at the door. Her face as she said a final "goodnight, Captain" seemed wistful in a way he didn't understand.

He spent a restless night, his head too full of thoughts of her to sleep peacefully, and rose the next day to discover that Dr Griffin had packed her things and left the house with Clarke in the early hours of the morning. Then he understood that final look she had given him a little better. Which was, of course, no consolation at all.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a miserable Christmas.

Abby wouldn't have thought there could be a more miserable Christmas than that of the previous year, such a short time after Jakob had died. But last Christmas she and Clarke had at least done their best to be as cheerful as possible, and though there had been tears and sadness as they missed the man who wasn't there to celebrate with them, whenever they had felt lonely they had turned to each other for comfort, and it hadn't really been so bad.

A year had gone by since then. A great deal had changed, but Christmas had still been miserable, made worse by the fact that Clarke was barely speaking to her.

She still hadn't forgiven her mother for the way they had left the villa. She was still upset that her many questions about why they had to leave had remained largely unanswered, and worst of all was the news that they would not be going back.

All of this was difficult for Clarke to accept, and as the days passed she hadn't so much accepted it as she had retreated behind a wall of sullen silences and accusatory glares. Abby was feeling guilty enough about what had happened that she could hardly fault her for having a poor attitude about it.

Well, at least Clarke seemed happy enough right now. Christmas might have been miserable, but tonight was the last night of the year, and her daughter was smiling. That was something for which to be thankful. 

Clarke was currently across the room ensconced in a window seat with Wells Jaha. They were old friends but they had not seen much of each other in the past year since Clarke had been living outside of town. The party was a perfect chance for them to catch up, the pair of youngsters perfectly content to sit out of the way of the adult guests, eating all of the good things on offer, talking and laughing, off in their own little world.

For that reason alone Abby was glad she had agreed to come when Professor Jaha had invited her and Clarke to join him and his son in attending the Wallaces' annual celebration to ring in the New Year. If Clarke was enjoying herself, it was more than worth the effort of smiling and making conversation for a few hours. 

She had known most of these people for years, and they had known her and her family for just as long. This was actually somewhat unfortunate. All evening she had been greeted by old acquaintances and former colleagues, every single one of whom shook her hand, smiled sympathetically, and wanted to talk about Jakob.

Such a great loss, he was so missed, a credit to his profession, the university wasn't the same without him, a wonderful man taken too soon.

All of which was true, but it was all anyone had to say to her, and as the evening dragged on she thought she might scream if one more person came to express their kind thoughts and respectful condolences. 

It was all too clear that none of them were interested in speaking to _her_. Standing here in this house, surrounded by the people who had once populated her life, she felt invisible, not even a person, just Jakob Griffin's widow. 

The thought occurred to her, guiltily, that _he_ had never made her feel like that. All those months she had lived under his roof she had never once felt invisible. How could she, with the way he always seemed to be watching her; observing, at first to criticise, wanting to mould her to his will, or so she thought. At some point the way he regarded her seemed to change, became less intrusive, and more welcome. 

Well, there wasn't any point dwelling on the way his eyes would follow her about the room, making her always aware of him, even when they were surrounded by other people, most of them talkative children in need of attention. There was no point dwelling on that at all.

But dwell she did for a good few minutes at least, as she stood by herself against a wall warming her hands with a glass of spiced punch. 

Until, "Abigail." Dante Wallace came towards her with a genial smile and it began all over again. "It's so good to have you here, and looking so well. Allow me to tell you how greatly we've all missed your husband this past year, he was a fine academic, a credit to the institution..."

She couldn't even make an excuse and escape. Dante Wallace had been rector of Salzburg University for over a decade now, the head of the entire academic body, and this was his home, and his hospitality she was enjoying - or 'enjoying' at least - and she couldn't be impolite. 

She smiled and nodded, and did her best to be grateful that so many people had thought so well of Jakob, because he deserved no less. And she tried not to wonder what she deserved, because the answer was likely not as favourable.

After several minutes of condolences and fond remembrances the conversation, she knew, was about to reach that awkward point where they began to run out of things to say about Jakob and began to flounder for something to say to her other than: 

"I do hope you and your daughter are doing well? Good, good, I'm so very glad to hear it," he said, barely waiting for her murmured assurance before expressing his relief at the news.

She thought he would make his excuses then, but instead he began to tell her how the engineering department had been managing - well enough by all accounts - in the absence of one of its most respected and long-standing members.

"Abby," a voice interrupted after what seemed like an age. Thelonius had apparently come to rescue her. "Here you are. Rector, allow me to borrow her for a moment, won't you? I'm afraid Herr Jackson is in great distress over his _bleigiessen_ and I'm hoping she might come and try to comfort the poor fellow."

"Oh dear, did it break?" she said.

"He's convinced he's doomed."

Rector Wallace chuckled obligingly. "Of course, don't let me keep you. It has been a pleasure to see you, my dear. I'm so glad you came, you are always most welcome."

He took her hand and patted it before she and Thelonius turned away. She thought the old gentleman looked about as glad to depart the conversation as was she.

"Thank you for that," she said as they made their way across the room. "Is Jackson really upset over a bad fortune?"

"Jackson is tipsy. The lead did break but I'm sure he's forgotten all about it by now."

They reached the table set up for guests who wanted to try their hand at the traditional game of _Bleigiessen_. Eric Jackson, once a favourite student of Abby's, who was now working towards his post-graduate degree in the biology department, was there amongst a group cheerfully coaching the next applicant through their turn. He certainly didn't seem particularly dismayed over the outcome of his own unfortunate fortune.

It was a simple trick, melting a small lump of lead in a spoon over a candle flame, and then letting it drip into a dish of water where it solidified in an instant. The shape formed by the lead would tell of fortune, good or bad, for the year ahead - the interpretation of both shape and subsequent fortune inspiring much spirited debate amongst those present. 

Liberal amounts of punch naturally helped. Here were a collection of academia's finest minds crowded round, eager to inspect a lump of metal in a bowl and wager one's fate on the look of the thing.

"There, it looks like a boat, I'm telling you. That's good luck, it means there is a voyage in your future." 

"It looks more like a banana to me."

"Then maybe it means this will be a year for eating well."

"Or that he will fall over a lot," Abby muttered under her breath so that no one but Thelonius heard.

His mouth twitched in humour, and he inclined his head towards the table. "Will you try your hand this year?" 

"I don't think so."

He didn't press her. He seemed aware that her attempts to emulate the festive atmosphere were for show. She probably wasn't making all that good a show of it, come to think of it.

"You're rethinking you're decision, aren't you?" he said.

Her head snapped round to stare at him. "What?"

"To come along with Wells and I tonight, I can tell you'd rather be anywhere else. But I am glad you joined us this year, Abby. I understood last year, of course, the festive season was such a difficult time for you and Clarke."

It felt like a difficult time this year, too. The reason was world's apart - for one thing this was a situation of her own making. And was she rethinking her decision? Only twenty times a day since she had made it. So far she had always reached the same conclusion as she had the day she left. And anyway, it was done, and there was no point thinking it over anymore. A pity such logic hadn't helped her yet.

"Some traditions are worth preserving, though, aren't they?" Thelonius continued. "Celebrating the end of another year just isn't quite the same without the Griffin family in attendance, and that's still true."

She almost rolled her eyes. It was just a party. She didn't even like the host. Every year Rector Wallace invited the entire faculty, and Jakob and Abigail Griffin had always been regular attendees. Abby had never liked the old dinosaur. He was wary of new ideas, resistant to change - and as a leader of an academic institution these were crimes Abby could not abide.

"Tradition has its place," Abby said with a sigh, "but there's a lot to be said for change, too. Every year the same punch, the same games, the same faces."

The knowledge had been creeping over her since she walked in the door that this was the wrong place for her and Clarke to be. It was as if they'd stepped back into the past, but a pale version of the life she used to have with Jakob. It was familiar, and everyone was kind enough while they spoke with fond regrets of her husband, their colleague and friend. She hated it. She barely knew why she was here at all.

Over the general murmur of the room she heard a familiar laugh and her eyes found Clarke, pink-cheeked and smiling, leaning back in the window seat looking relaxed and carefree. It had been some time since she'd heard her daughter laughing.

"She's enjoying herself," Thelonius said, as if to reassure her. "How are you both settling in? Is the apartment you found all right?"

"It's fine. It will be convenient for Clarke, when school starts." 

"Good. And what about you, Abby? Have you given any more thought to what we spoke of before Christmas?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't."

He had offered her a job when he discovered she had left her old one.

It was kind of him; he seemed to think she was constantly on the verge of destitution. She had certainly been heading that way shortly after finding herself a widow who was being paid poorly to lecture just two classes a week, with few prospects for better employment, and a daughter relying on her to provide.

But her situation now was not quite so dire. Expenses had been minimal living at the villa, with room and board provided, and she had been putting her wages carefully away all year. There was enough to live on for the time being, and considering that she had walked out of a job with no notice, the situation might have been much more dire than it was.

She didn't like to rely on Professor Jaha. He seemed determined to be a good friend to the widow and child of his dear friend Jakob, but Abby was equally determined that she would take care of her own affairs. She was doing just fine on her own. She hadn't accepted the job when he offered it, being quite sure she could find something for herself. She hadn't as yet, but then she had not exactly started looking for one.

"Unless you were thinking of going back to your last position? I happen to know that Captain von Kane has yet to find another qualified tutor to replace you."

"Oh?" For a moment her heart fluttered wildly in her throat. She swallowed it down. "That's a shame. But no, I won't be going back." 

She couldn't go back.

And that was the real answer to why she found herself here at the party tonight. She was here because it was the last night of the year and she had nowhere else to be. 

She felt very tired all of a sudden, and wondered if there was really any point in fighting it. 

This wasn't a bad place for her and Clarke to find themselves, she reasoned. It was a step back, but maybe it was what they needed - a chance to regroup and breathe for a moment before deciding where to go next.

"Thank you, Thelonius, I'd be glad to work for you."

"Well," he blinked, having clearly not expected this, "I am glad to hear that. At least until we can find you something more suited to your qualifications. I'm aware it's a step down - you won't be taking classes -"

She shrugged. "I think I've taught enough. It will be good to be back in the laboratory. I won't miss teaching sums and the periodic table."

This was, of course, a blatant lie. But if he knew it, Professor Jaha was kind enough not to let it show.

\---

  
When midnight arrived the doors and windows were thrown open so that the sound of church bells ringing out across all of Salzburg could be heard over the cheers and excitement within. And then, once the last echoes of the bells had faded away, they were replaced with the strains of the _Donauwalzer_. Space was cleared and couples found each other. Another tradition, for there was no more proper way to begin the year than with a waltz.

Having no partner, and no desire to watch, Abby turned away, finding her way from the main room out into an empty hallway where she could at least feel lonely and morose without company.

 _Oh for heaven's sake,_ she thought to herself. It wasn't even the same song. And no one here was dancing the Ländler. 

"Mother? Did you want to go? We don't have to stay any longer, do we?"

She turned, surprised to find Clarke had followed her away from the party. She had attached herself to Wells as soon as they arrived and had barely come near her all evening. 

Abby summoned up a smile. "Ready to go home?"

Clarke nodded. "Wells asked me to dance but I wanted to see if you were all right. You look like... were you thinking about Papa? Didn't you used to dance with him at midnight every year?"

Abby's smile crumbled, guilt flooding through her. People had been wanting her to remember Jakob all night, but it wasn't her husband she had pictured leading her in a dance as the music played.

"I still miss him too, you know," Clarke said, misunderstanding her reaction.

"Oh, of course you do." She pulled Clarke into her arms, holding her tightly, and took the chance to bid her a happy new year. " _Prosit Neujahr_ , sweetheart."

She felt Clarke sigh and lean into her for a moment. "You too, Mother. Can we go now?"

"Yes, let's go. Are you tired?"

Clarke pulled away with a shrug. "It's no later than we'd be up for astronomy. If we ever did that again. Which I suppose we won't."

And like that the warm moment was over.

Now that midnight had passed they weren't the only ones thinking of finding their way to home and bed. While some still remained to talk and dance and drink, others exchanged their final good wishes and claimed a last sip or two of the bracing punch, and then began to depart. 

Abby and Clarke, with hats, coats, and scarves wrapped securely around them, made their way out to the street to start the walk back to their new flat. It wasn't far, and the streets were hardly empty despite the cold and late hour. They walked by other party-goers who were making their own way home, or simply out enjoying themselves. The occasional cracker or shout of laughter or strain of music drifting from a window could be heard punctuating the quiet of the night.

There was also a small jingling sound Abby noticed as they walked along side by side. "What's that?"

Clarke held up what she had been toying with, a silver charm in the shape of a horseshoe. "It was in Wells' pork pie. He gave it to me for good luck."

"That was sweet of him."

"His _bleigeissen_ was already lucky, he said he didn't need this, too. You didn't have your fortune told, did you? I didn't, either."

"It's not really the same without your father there to make it all seem like good fun."

"I know you don't believe in things like that. I remember he told me once that we don't really tell fortunes to find out what will happen. We do it to find out what we _want_ to have happen. And then we have a whole year ahead to make it so, or - or not so if it's something we want to avoid. Or at least we might try. Maybe you should have had a go, it couldn't have hurt. You might have found out what it is you want to be doing."

"Daring, all I want - other than to be in bed right now with a hot water bottle on my feet - is to look after us both. I know it hasn't been easy for you, so much change, but it isn't easy for me, either. I have to do what I think is best for us."

"But you already were doing that. We were fine."

"Clarke you don't -"

"Don't tell me I don't understand when you won't tell me anything, that isn't fair. We were fine there. Better than fine. And we're not fine now, and you're right, I don't understand at all."

"Clarke."

She pulled away when Abby reached for her, and stomped ahead as quick as she could, leaving her mother behind feeling more helpless than ever.

A miserable Christmas, and now an unhappy New Year.

\---

  
A few days later she and Clarke were out doing some shopping. Clarke would be starting back at her old school when the new term began on the following Monday, and of course there were books and new shoes and things of that nature to purchase. A small dent would be made in her savings today but there was nothing to be done about that - apart from what she was already doing by accepting her new job with Professor Jaha at the university. Earning a steady wage would help to ease that concern, at least, regardless of how she felt about the job itself, which was, on the whole, rather ambivalent.

Stepping out of the pharmacy where she had stopped in for cold cream, Abby turned and made her way several store fronts along to the bookstore. Clarke had wanted to go on ahead to find the things she needed for school, not keen to wait in the pharmacy queue.

Clarke was not in the bookstore, however. It was not a large establishment, once inside the door it only required a glance around the interior to see that Clarke was not here. Frowning, Abby retreated back out to the street and looked up and down, wondering where she would have gone. 

She didn't have time to grow worried, soon spotting her missing daughter down on the corner at the end of the street. Clarke's bright blonde hair underneath her blue winter hat was easy enough to spy from a distance, even on a bustling afternoon in the middle of town. 

As Abby approached she saw that Clarke was talking to someone, a boy with a bicycle propped up between them, wearing a smart messenger's uniform. They were speaking in a familiar manner, in the middle of a conversation.

This, Abby could only surmise, must be the one and only Finn whom she had heard a lot about but never actually seen. The boy had always been very careful about his visits to the villa, whether he had the excuse of delivering a telegram or not. Wise of him, since there would have been such a fuss if the Captain had ever caught on to what was happening right under his nose. For Raven's sake Abby had been glad they were never discovered, but privately she had sometimes thought it might not have been such a bad thing.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Clarke. I have _important_ things to do," Finn was saying in a patronising sort of tone that did nothing to endear him to Abby as she approached the pair.

"But the next time you see her," Clarke said, "if you could just tell her -"

"I haven't seen Raven in some time. There are greater matters to concern us all these days, Clarke, you should know that. And frankly, there are better people to be associating with. You'd do well to follow my example."

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, so people don't ask questions about you, too."

"Who's been asking questions about Raven?"

Finn rolled his eyes. "Not Raven, but the man who took her in. Now _he_..."

"Yes, what about Captain von Kane?" Abby said as she stepped up beside Clarke and fixed the boy with a direct look that required a direct answer.

But the boy stammered and prevaricated and didn't stay long, apparently less eager to give his opinions to an adult than to a young woman.

"It's as if he doesn't even care about her anymore," Clarke said in a small voice, watching him go. Abby put her arm around Clarke's shoulders but Clarke was not looking for comfort, turning on her instead. "How can anyone just stop caring about someone important to them? I never would. Raven and the others, they're still my friends, and I still care, even if you don't."

"You know that's not true. Clarke, were you trying to pass a message to Raven through that boy?"

"It doesn't matter. It was private. I told you I'd meet you in the bookstore. Come on, I still need these books, don't I?"

"You could write to her, you know," she made the peace offering as they made their way back along the street towards the bookstore. "If you'd like to keep in touch with Raven, of course you may."

"Well, maybe I will," Clarke said, in a strange tone that Abby couldn't help noting sounded rather like a warning.

\---

  
January mornings were always icy cold, but Abby resisted turning on the gas heater, instead warming her hands at the stove while heating milk for Clarke's cocoa.

Her daughter was already seated at the small table, nose in a book as she ate her bread and butter. They were both dressed for the day, Clarke in her uniform and Abby in what may as well have been _her_ uniform - the grey tweed skirt and jacket today matched with thick wool stockings and scarf. Both of them were already wearing their outdoor coats. 

She brought Clarke's cup of cocoa over to her.

"Have a nice day at school. I'll see you tonight." She bent over and kissed the top of her head.

Clarke didn't look up, barely responded except with a flat, "All right."

Abby sighed and let herself out the front door. This was the routine now, with Clarke still giving her the cold shoulder. And it wasn't as if Abby could really blame her, knowing Clarke had been happy while at the villa, how she had grown attached to the other children and come to see the place as home. 

The small flat over the butcher's shop was a far cry from how they had lived at the Kane family villa, and a step down, too, from their old cottage they had lived in for so many years with Jakob. But it wasn't so bad. Clean enough, if cold and rather cramped. Still, Clarke hated it.

Oh, she didn't complain about it - Clarke wasn't the sort of girl to _complain_ , exactly. But she made her feelings known all the same. She was simply unhappy, and Abby had to keep reminding herself that it might hurt Clarke a little now, but it was for the best, and she would recover. They both would. 

Abby wheeled her bicycle from under the back stairs out onto the street, icy air stinging her face as she set off on the thankfully short ride to the university.

\---

  
She used to spend her lunch breaks with Jakob on the days both of them were free. In warmer months they would meet somewhere outside in the sun to eat together - a favourite bench or patch of grass. In winter Abby would walk across campus to his office to escape the cold, spreading their meal out on his desk to share.

That had always been one of her favourite things about working at the university with her husband. 

She didn't go near the engineering department anymore, and at this time of year there were no warm spots in the sun to enjoy outside. These days found her eating lunch alone in the laboratory and, when she thought about how she would rather be spending the midday meal, she didn't think often of Jakob but of the long formal table in the dining room and the nine other faces around it.

Today during her break she read over the letter again that had come from Bern several days ago - redirected, it had found its way into the flat's mail slot after being sent first to the villa. Her old friend Callie had written to her with wishes for a _Frohes neues Jahr_ and shared stories of her Christmas spent with family and friends. 

The letter also asked if Abby was still enjoying the role of a private tutor. _Don't you miss laboratory life?_ Callie wrote. Come and join me here, I will take Clarke skiing and introduce you to the department chair - they want to bring on someone new in March and I think you would be an ideal fit. Oh, you would love Bern in the spring...

Abby would have to write and explain she was already back in the lab - but there was no use beginning her reply until she decided what she thought of the invitation. 

She did need to look for another permanent position, but she hadn't given the matter any serious thought yet. She had put it off, intending to consider her options in the new year. But January had arrived and here was the prospect of employment and she still didn't know what to do. 

She couldn't be Thelonius's research assistant for the rest of her life. She didn't _want_ to be his research assistant for the rest of her life. But to leave Salzburg? It was a daunting prospect, and transplanting Clarke again so soon, to another country no less, was not something she wished to contemplate. 

She needed a better job if only to preserve her sanity - to say nothing of her bank account. But decently paid positions for a woman scientist, and failed tutor, were thin on the ground.

Fleeing without notice from her last place of employment after kissing her employer was not exactly conducive to receiving a good reference, either, which did not help her prospects. Though she had the terrible thought that, if she asked the Captain for a reference, he would provide it. 

But of course she was not going to ask. As if he was just any other employer. As if it had been any other job.

At some point she had stopped thinking of him as her employer at all. That was entirely the problem. She couldn't be his children's tutor, stay there under his roof as an employee, if she was going to kiss him. And she couldn't kiss him if she was going to fall in love with him. And she _could not_ fall in love with him.

So she had to leave.

It was awful to think she might have broken his heart. She wished she'd left before she kissed him. In fact it would have been far better to leave before they ever began growing closer at all. Before those first sparks of attraction. Before he stopped dismissing everything she said and began listening. Before she saw that he was a good father. Before she began to understand him.

She should really have left the day he tried to sack her all those months ago over the silly business with the whistle. Looking back, that was the day everything began to change. 

How much trouble would it have saved them all if she and Clarke had packed their bags and left that day? None of this ever would have happened. He wouldn't have kissed her, he wouldn't have got to know her at all, and most importantly he wouldn't have started to love her.

She would have spared him that pain. She would have spared everyone if she could, including herself.

\---

  
She folded Callie's letter away when Thelonius came in. He had been good enough to hire her in his department, and it wouldn't do to let on she might be considering leaving for other work. At least until she was sure whether she even wanted to consider it at all.

He was smiling, looking amused as he came over to her work station. She had been preparing slides for his next lecture, the simple task briefly interrupted by her lunch break, but he didn't glance at the state of her work.

"I have to warn you, there are a number of people waiting outside this room very eager to speak with you."

"Who is it?" she asked, frowning because she couldn't think of anyone it could be.

"Well, they didn't give me all seven of their names, but we have both met them before. You'd know them better than I; the last time I saw them they were wearing togas."

 _Togas._ She knew instantly what he meant but was only more baffled.

"What? What are they doing here? How did they get here? They're outside waiting?" She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "It's just the children?"

"Yes, just the children, on their own. Someone directed them to my lecture hall, and they politely requested I bring them to you."

"Thelonius, you have to send them away."

His brows lifted at that. "Don't you want to see them?"

Of course she wanted to see them, dearly. But the only reasons she could think of for why they must have come were nothing she could help them with. 

"Did they say why they wanted to see me?"

"They might have mentioned something about wanting their old tutor back. It seemed urgent."

She shook her head slowly. "No... No, I don't want to see them. Please would you find some excuse, tell them I'm busy with something important." She rolled her eyes. If only. None of her duties were even approaching important these days. Thelonius looked as if he would refuse; she supposed lying to children was not something he was keen to do. "Please. You said if I ever needed your help with anything."

At last he agreed, reluctantly, and left and she had to stifle the urge to go after him, to take the chance to see the children after all. Surely it was better not to get their hopes up. Although she felt terrible for leaving without saying goodbye to them, she didn't think saying goodbye _now_ would do any good, either. 

And besides, if she looked into their faces she wasn't sure she'd have the heart to tell them she couldn't go back.

So she stayed where she was, too distracted to return to work, racked with guilt as she thought of them coming by themselves all this way to find her, only to be turned away. 

She might have successfully avoided the children, but she couldn't avoid Thelonius who, after seeing them out of the building, returned directly to continue the discussion with Abby.

"They were very disappointed," he said with a shake of his head, "but they're gone. I wanted to ask you, do you think I should call their father? I doubt Captain von Kane knows his children are in town unsupervised."

"No, don't call him. Don't get them into trouble if they can avoid it. Bellamy and Raven are both very responsible and will make sure they all get home safely."

Thelonius leaned his weight on the stool beside hers. "I can see you still care for them a great deal. When I left them, they were out on the steps deciding on their next move. I imagine they're in no rush to make the bus for home - you have time to catch them. If you want to."

"No, I shouldn't," she said weakly. Then, more firmly: "No. It's better this way. It would only make things more difficult if they saw me."

Thelonius sighed and sat back, considering her with his shrewd gaze. "Now, that is strange. You didn't used to be someone who avoided the difficult path."

"Why get their hopes up? I'm only thinking of those children."

"Are you? You know, you've changed, Abby. If you can't even face up to a mess of your own making -"

"What do you mean, what mess?"

"Whatever it was you left behind. There must have been something. I know you - or I thought I did. And the way you've been acting since you quit that job, anyone would think..."

"What?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps that it wasn't just a job that you left. I was surprised you agreed to come back here, you know. Before you went to work for Captain von Kane I could see that being here at the university brought you no comfort. "

"It didn't."

"That, I understand. You couldn't turn a corner without seeing something that reminded you of Jakob."

"But that isn't why I wanted other work. You know it all came down to money."

"Yes, there were certainly practical concerns. Somehow, I don't think that's why you decided to come to work for me, though."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you? You have changed, Abby, a great deal. You're not the woman my friend married."

"Yes, I am," she protested, her voice thick in her throat. "I am, and I always will be. How can you say that?"

"Because I don't believe Jakob ever would have loved such a coward."

She gaped at him.

"You're hiding, Abby," he said to her. His calm tone and kind eyes lent credence to these condemning words that she already felt were far too close to the truth to be comfortable. "From what I don't know, though I have my suspicions. You are my friend, too, and you are welcome to continue hiding here, if it's what you really want. But again, my suspicion is that it is not."

\---

  
She went home that evening following a different route than usual, wheeling her bicycle along the footpath until she drew to a halt in front of a building she had been avoiding for over a year.

She had always detoured around it, hadn't even wanted to see it, not since the day she had been summoned out of a lecture on cell wall structure, and had made a frantic dash across campus upon being told that there had been an accident in one of the engineering workshops. She had been too late to see her husband alive one last time. He had passed away by the time she got there.

The shortest days of the year were passing and it was full dark as she stood and faced the place where it had once seemed like her life had ended, too. 

The damage from the explosion and resulting fire had been repaired as if it had never marred the building's facade. 

And it was just a building, anyway, she wasn't sure what she had been afraid of if she came and stood here and saw it again. Being overwhelmed by the pain of her loss, probably, but that was old pain now, that had ebbed and returned and ebbed again, the waves of grief a little further off and less threatening as time moved forward.

She didn't really have a reason to fear it any longer. She had learned to live with it. And she knew now what had seemed unthinkable then; she could live without Jakob.

What scared her now was something else. Starting again. Choosing a path for herself and following it. Following her heart where she knew it wanted to go.

 _Coward._

She turned her bicycle away and headed slowly for home - or what passed for it these days - with the word still lingering in her mind. 

Well, yes, she had been a coward.

She had let that man kiss her, and kissed him back, had almost slept with him for heaven's sake, and oh it had been wonderful. He was wonderful, and it had felt wonderful giving in to her desires after harbouring them guiltily for so long. But she knew she couldn't face him the next day, and so she had turned tail and run away. A true coward.

_This isn't an affair. I don't want just a night with you, I want - I want -_

She hadn't even let him finish, had kissed the confession away, didn't want to hear what she already knew - that he wanted more than she could give.

At least, that was how it felt at the time.

Thelonius had certainly been right about one thing, she didn't feel at all like the same woman she had once been. That woman had never lost her husband. That woman had never felt the need to be cautious with her heart.

But even if she wanted to muster up some courage and face what she had done, what would that mean? She couldn't just go back there, show up on his doorstep again, and expect to be welcome. 

Her mind was a distracted whirl as Abby climbed the stairs up to the flat, let herself in, and turned on the light. She began divesting herself of her outer layer just inside the door, thoughts still churning, and it took her several seconds longer than it otherwise might have to realise that something wasn't right.

She paused in the act of unwinding her scarf, looking around the room and making note of the details which lead to only one conclusion: Clarke wasn't here. 

There were no school shoes discarded on the mat, no bookbag on the chair, and no lights had been on when she entered. The heat hadn't been turned on, either, the place was just as cold as it had been this morning.

Why wasn't Clarke here?

Clarke, even these days when she was so displeased in general with her mother and their new living situation, was not the type of girl to loiter about town after school. Especially not after dark. She knew to come straight home and for the past two weeks was always here doing her homework, reading, or listening to the radio when Abby came home in the evening. 

The flat was dark and cold and empty. 

As she stood there in the middle of the main room a dozen horrible thoughts flashed through Abby's mind as to what might have prevented Clarke from coming home after school.

And then she saw the note on the table.

 _Mother,_  
_I have gone to stay with my real friends. You needn't come looking for me, I will be perfectly all right where I am going._  
_\- Clarke_

After reading this, it took her all of three seconds to put it together. 

The 'real friends' mentioned had no doubt managed to find Clarke today while in town. In fact, now she thought of it, Clarke might have even orchestrated them coming in the first place. And it surely wouldn't have taken much convincing for Clarke to abscond back home with them.

Abby's stomach sank as she realised what she would have to do now.

But now? Right _now?_

She wasn't ready to go back there. She wasn't ready to see him again, though her heart leapt treacherously at the thought. 

She felt every inch the coward Thelonius had accused her of being, but she was going to have to go anyway, she was going to have to go to the villa right now to find Clarke. 

Whatever happened when she got there, she would have no choice but to face it.

\---

  
She rode the evening bus from the middle of town out along the tree-lined road towards the one place she had been so determined she wouldn't see again.

To anyone paying attention to the lone woman sitting there on the hard bench seat, leaning against the window so her breath misted the glass, she would have appeared calm enough, but on the inside was quite a different matter.

Her stomach seemed to sink further with every quarter-mile, and every time she imagined coming face to face with him again - which was really all she could think of - her traitorous heart rose a little higher. 

She'd been doing her best all this time to put him from her mind. She had tried not to wonder about what he and the children were doing, what they must think of her for abandoning them the way she had. She'd had no contact with him at all since then. He had sent the last of her wages care of the university, but there had been no accompanying message, no request for an explanation of her leaving so suddenly. No request for her to come back.

It was entirely possible he had no wish to ever see her again.

She should be furious with Clarke for making her return to the villa to fetch her, making her go there and see him without any time to prepare herself or think of what she should say. And it was of course very wrong of Clarke to run away like this and make her worry. But Abby was so busy thinking of what would happen when - or _if_ , since he might not even be at home - she saw the Captain again to dwell on her daughter's bad behaviour.

She could be cross with Clarke any time. As she stepped down off the bus and began picking her way through the icy slush that bordered the road, retracing the path to the tall gates of the Kane estate, he was the only thing in her mind.

No one answered the door. 

Abby stood on the step, hands deep in her pockets, breath misting in the air. She contemplated the closed door for several minutes after ringing the bell, noting as she did a bright blue sled, shiny and new, that was leaning against the wall to dry under the awning. A Christmas present, no doubt. Some of her apprehension lifted, glad to see a sign that the children had gotten the chance to enjoy themselves over the holiday season. 

Finally from her purse she drew out the housekey that she hadn't thought to leave behind as she rightly should have on the morning she left. The oversight was convenient now as she let herself in.

There were lights on, so she knew there must be someone about. When she ventured inside however the place was quiet and felt almost as empty as her own little flat had when she returned home that evening. 

It was past when dinner would have been over, which was likely why Frau Sinclair was not there to answer the door - she had usually retired by now with her husband to their apartment over the garage. This was the part of the evening when the little ones would likely be preparing for bed, and usually at this time there was something going on - children running up and down the stairs, the radio playing in the sitting room. Someone rapping on the bathroom door to tell whoever was inside to _hurry up, it's my turn now_. 

But nothing seemed to be happening anywhere.

Abby wandered from the grand foyer through the ground floor, looking into the dining room, the empty ballroom. She peeked in at the open door of the library, feeling her heart quicken as her eyes travelled over the room. He had kissed her for the first time right there against the shelves. She had sat on his lap in that very chair. 

Her gaze landed on the table in the corner that she realised she had never cleared off. She crossed the room to look more closely. It was exactly as she remembered it - piled with books and papers, and the old typewriter Raven had tinkered back to working order. Nothing had been touched or thrown away.

The Captain had scolded her numerous times about tidying it up, but it had been sitting like that, collecting dust, for weeks. Just as she had left it.

Well no, there was one difference from the night she had last sat here at the table: the letter she had written to her friend that night, she had left it on the desk and forgotten all about it. It wasn't here now; he had remembered it, and saw it went in the post, even after she had fled the house. She knew this because Callie had mentioned receiving it when she wrote back with the news about the job in Bern. 

It must have been him, no one else would have touched any of her things. She wondered why he had done it, why he had bothered. She wondered if she would ever have the chance to ask, since after all her anxiety over coming here the place was apparently deserted.

She turned away from the library, which gave her no more answers about the whereabouts of anyone, and only plagued her with further uncomfortable feelings.

Standing at a loss in the corridor, she began to think there had been some mix-up. Perhaps Clarke had been discovered and even now the family was on its way to town to take her back where she should be. They might have passed each other on the road. While contemplating this absurd likelihood she heard a sudden noise - a shout, followed by laughter.

The door at the end of the hallway was thrown open and Harper came darting in from the terrace, slamming it shut behind her. She was all bundled up in winter clothes, breathless and red-nosed, and when she looked up and saw Abby standing there she gasped. 

"You're here!" She came pelting down the hallway and threw her arms around Abby's waist. "They said it would work."

Abby staggered slightly at the force of the greeting, and then hugged her back. "Who are 'they'?" she asked, suspecting she knew the answer. "And said what would work? And why were you outside at this time of night?"

"Everyone's out there. I came in because John was chasing me because I put snow down his collar. Come on, it's all right, he won't throw snowballs at you." She took Abby's hand and began towing her back to the door. 

Abby followed, still not sure what was happening. Outside, the terrace had been carefully swept of the recent snowfall, though the gardens below were still carpeted in white. With the lamps lit along the paths it looked beautiful - a fact she would have taken more notice of if she'd had eyes for anything but the group gathered down the far end of the terrace once they rounded the corner of the house and she saw them all there together.

"Look who I found!" Harper called out, causing them all to turn around.

She was quickly surrounded as John, Nathan, Octavia, and Monty rushed over. She did her best to hug each one, very glad to see them while also conscious of those who were apparently less eager to greet her. Bellamy and Raven were flanking an obstinate-looking Clarke, and behind them Captain von Kane stood straight and tall, regarding her sudden appearance impassively.

She dropped a final kiss on Monty's head before straightening. She sighed. "Clarke. What were you thinking?"

"Oh, don't be angry with her," Harper begged, still clinging to her hand. 

"It wasn't her idea, we all convinced her to come," Bellamy said.

Clarke didn't say a word, her face a perfect blend of guilt and defiance. Abby wasn't at all willing to believe her innocence.

Someone tugged at her other hand. It was Octavia, looking up at her with large, pleading eyes. "We just wanted you both to come back. Are you going to stay now?"

She had no answer to that just yet, so instead posed a different question. "What are you all doing out here?" 

"We were showing Clarke our new telescope," Raven said.

"Telescope?" She could see it over near the railing on its stand. It was larger and rather more impressive than the old model Jakob had brought home from a flea market one day and fixed up himself.

"It was my Christmas present," Raven explained.

"Oh? Oh, and whose was the sled?"

"Me," Nathan said proudly.

Octavia tugged at her hand again. "I got a puppy," she hissed as if imparting a secret of grave importance.

"A puppy, my goodness." She looked past the crowd of children to the Captain, who was beginning to look slightly embarrassed.

"She's inside, will you come and see? She's only a baby, it was too cold for her to come outside with us."

"Well..."

"Yes, I think we should all go back inside now," the Captain said. "You all need to apologise to Dr Griffin for your behaviour today, and you can do that in the sitting room, where it's warm, before they have to go."

There was a loud chorus of dismayed refusals at this, and loudest of all was Clarke's. 

"No! I'm not apologising for anything, and I'm not leaving."

"Clarke," Abby said.

"Well, I'm not. You can't make me. I've been invited to stay and I intend to do so."

Abby stared at her daughter. 

The Captain cleared his throat. "I only told her she could stay until you arrived to collect her, which I was sure you would do before long. As soon as I discovered she was here, I would have driven her home, but..." he paused, with some chagrin, "I could not persuade her to tell me your address."

"Oh, Clarke. Really." 

"In her defence," the Captain said slowly, "I do believe it was _my_ children who invented the plan. And I'm sure they gave her quite a lot of encouragement." 

"We did sort of, well, kidnap her," Raven said.

"It was a good plan," John added. "We knew you'd have to come if we made off with your only daughter."

"And now you're here -"

"You'll stay won't you?"

"You're the best teacher we've ever had."

"We want you to come back."

"You have to come back."

"We all miss you. Please?"

"Please Abby, won't you stay?"

The children's voices tumbled over each other as they all crowded close, pleading with her.

Clarke was the only one who remained apart, though she was looking sad now rather than stubborn.

Raven turned and saw her, and reached for her hand, pulling her closer to the group. "Clarke wants to be here, that has to count for something."

"Clarke said she doesn't like her new house, she wants to come back and live with us," Monty said.

"Oh look, everyone, it's not so simple," Abby began.

"But it's true," Clarke insisted. "I hate that place you made us move into."

"Clarke."

"Well, I do. It's horrible there. We live above a butcher's shop, it always smells of pig's feet, and it's cramped and cold and -"

"I've done the best I can, Clarke."

She softened slightly. "I know. But don't pretend you like it any more than I do. We both liked it _here_ , and I don't understand why we ever left. The Captain told me he didn't sack you. I knew he wouldn't have."

"I never said he did."

"Then why won't you -"

"Clarke, that's enough. Don't argue with your mother," the Captain broke in, not harshly, but in a tone that nevertheless was not to be disobeyed.

And Clarke did obey, albeit while crossing her arms and glaring, until he moved to her side to place his hand on her shoulder, appealing to her with a look that melted her sullen facade.

He might have been a father to her in that moment, and for the first time a thought such as this had occurred to Abby it didn't feel like a betrayal of the man who had raised their daughter. Jakob would never object to anyone loving Clarke, and caring for her, because Clarke deserved to be loved and cared for.

With this revelation settling in her heart she was finally able to follow the thought to its logical conclusion - if it was what Clarke deserved, maybe _she_ deserved it, too.

Tears filled her eyes. To think she had turned her back on this, a family for her and Clarke, a man who would love them both. Abby looked around at them all then, at her daughter so miserable, and the other children waiting to see what would happen with varying degrees of hope and apprehension. 

And then there was him. 

He was watching her with an expression not unlike that of his children, though with rather more apprehension than hope. She was reminded of the day they had met, the imperious way he had beheld and judged her. Or at least that was how it had seemed to her at the time.

It was so strange now to think that she had ever found him cold.

"You gave them a puppy?" she said.

"It's _my_ puppy," Octavia was quick to correct her.

"Oh no, the frog didn't die, did it?"

"No, Emperor Marcus Aurelius is quite all right. He just has a new friend."

"Good, that's good." She stroked Octavia's hair absently.

"I named her 'Abby'," the little girl added, and it was so unexpected it made her laugh, and then had to lift her hand to wipe away a tear that escaped.

"You named the puppy after me?"

"Well I already named the frog after Father."

"Oh."

"You see, you never should have encouraged them to call you by your given name," Marcus said. "It will make things awkward now. That is, if you were to stay, as the children wish. They might have to learn to call you something else."

They stared at each other, and she thought she knew exactly what he was asking in the sudden silence, but he was apparently not going to actually say it, and so she couldn't provide an answer. 

They were still just standing there, their gazes locked, when Bellamy suddenly turned around and began herding everyone else back towards the house. 

"Come on, everyone. We have to go to bed now, it's late."

There was much protesting and Clarke said, "I can't go to bed, I don't live here anymore. At least, I don't think I do."

Raven responded by linking her arm with Clarke's. "No one else has moved in; your room is still your room. Let the grown-ups figure out the rest and tell us in the morning."

"I want to stay and watch," Octavia whined as her brother hauled her up in his arms.

"No you don't, believe me," Bellamy said.

"Why, what's going to happen?"

"They're either going to get married, or start throwing things at each other," John explained.

"Maybe both," Raven added.

Monty gasped. "Not the telescope! It's new!"

The two grown-ups in question stared after them, feeling more torn between awkwardness and hysteria with every word. 

But then they were alone, and had to face each other, and all other considerations fell away. Abby looked up at him, seeing the way his jaw tightened, keeping himself tightly restrained for the moment he turned and allowed his eyes to meet hers again. 

Once, that one night in the library, he had given her a glimpse of the depth of his feelings. She didn't know if he would trust her enough to do so again.

She walked over to the telescope, running a hand along it. It was a very fine model, any other time she would have been desperate to try it out. "You've been spoiling them. I'm glad."

"I had to, they've been miserable. You left without even saying goodbye to them." He didn't hide the reproach in his voice, which she knew she deserved.

"I know. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologise to me, please. I was the reason you left. They are the ones who were hurt. That is what happens when you lose someone you love."

"Believe me, you don't have to explain to me how that works. And I am sorry, not just for the children." She turned to face him, finding him closer than expected, but still not close enough. "You didn't do anything wrong, Marcus."

"But I never should have -" He broke off, running an agitated hand over his hair. "If I had known it would drive you away, I never would have... But I thought - I had hoped - you would want to stay with me once you knew how I felt."

"Oh, I did. Want to. I just _couldn't_."

His eyes held a desperate hope in them as he asked, "And now? What do you want now? Or did you really only come to get Clarke?"

"I don't know if I could make her leave with me if I tried. Not again. She seems quite determined to stay."

"The children would certainly like that, they've grown very fond of her."

"Yes, she's very fond of them, too."

"Is she?"

Abby nodded, and as he took another step closer her heart began to race - race far ahead of her thoughts, her common sense. And despite her lingering reservations she longed to let it lead the way.

"Are you going to kiss me again?" she said.

"I don't know if I should. I'm sorry for what happened that night. I didn't mean to frighten you. I never would have touched you if I'd known -"

"Oh, you didn't," she said, dismayed. "You didn't frighten me."

"I must have, if you felt you had to leave like that."

"It wasn't you I was afraid of. You only kissed me. I wanted you to kiss me."

"And I wanted a little more than that." He looked so ashamed. Had he really been blaming himself all this time?

Of course he had.

"Well, so did I. Please, it wasn't anything you did."

"Then what was it? Because I'm surprised there's anything that scares you."

"Just my own heart, and what it wants. It was all too much. It seemed too big for me to contemplate. You see, I lost the first man I loved. What was I supposed to do about the next one but run away?"

"You could stay and marry him instead."

Her breath caught in her throat. "I suppose that would be another option to consider."

"Or you could just... stay. Please stay. Until -"

"Stay with you unmarried? That would be rather scandalous. Unless you mean I should go back to being your tutor again."

"No - or yes, if that's what you want. I only meant that if - if you weren't ready, if you needed time, I would understand. I don't mean to rush you into anything. That was my mistake, I saw that you were unsure, and I should have been more patient. But I can be, I will be, this time. Just, don't leave again?"

"First you propose, now you're trying to get out of it."

"Abby." 

She found herself smiling broadly all of a sudden. He didn't hate her, clearly, and elation was rising up within her. "You finally called me something other than 'Doctor' or 'that infernal woman'. Well done, Captain."

"Abby." He stepped towards her, a warning look in his eye.

"I knew you'd crack eventually."

"I am certainly about to."

She held up a hand as he reached for her, pausing him just as he began to lower his face to hers. "They're watching from the windows, aren't they?"

He tore his eyes from hers just long enough to glance over her head. "Yes. John has his binoculars. And Octavia's leaning out so far she's about to fall."

Abby's head shot round to see if her precious little one was truly in danger but saw nothing before he was pulling her back to him and covering her mouth with his.

When he released her she was breathless, and still slightly concerned. 

"It was only a joke, she's fine. Though, they are watching us," he said.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He was tall enough it was a bit of a stretch. "We should probably behave ourselves."

He shrugged, his arms about her waist pulling her closer. "They might learn something."

"Oh, well, that's all right then. As long as it's educational," she said just before their lips met once more.

\---

  
He brought her inside once she started shivering in his arms - and not for amorous reasons, but because she was starting to freeze.

"There's a fire in the sitting room," he said, leading her through to where it was indeed much warmer.

They both shed their coats and Abby unwound her woollen scarf, simple actions that took on new meaning when he took the items solicitously from her to lay them with his over a chair. 

"I'll get you some brandy," he offered.

"Wait." 

She had a feeling the children might not be content upstairs and any moment they could be overrun. She didn't mind, she was happy and wanted to share it with them. But if the current privacy they were enjoying was to be short-lived, she wanted to make the most of it.

She lifted a hand to touch his face. She'd been so busy kissing him outside she hadn't yet told him. 

"I love you." His eyes lit up, and he smiled like she'd never seen him smile before. Before he could respond with words she went on: "Do you forgive me for running away?"

His expression turned serious. "Well, that depends. You'll stay with us?" She nodded. "And you'll marry me?"

"Yes, I suppose I had better."

"And be a mother of eight?"

She blinked. "Goodness, when you say it like that..."

"Yes, but they are lovely children once you get to know them, and each one is special in their own way. Someone told me that once, and she is usually right."

"That's true, she usually is. Though not always."

"And you say you love me?"

She nodded. "I didn't mean to. But you would keep blowing that silly whistle."

His mouth was twitching, though he tried to remain grave. "Well, as it happens, I love you, too. So, of course you are forgiven."

Hearing him say it she was in danger of crying again, and all but fell against him, burying her face in his chest. It felt so good to know he loved her, but oh, it was so terrifying to love him back. What if she lost him too? The coward in her was still there, still afraid. But having her arms around him and having his arms around her, feeling him rest his cheek against her hair and sigh in contentment, she knew she could be brave.

Because the thought of this being hers, it would be worth all of the fear and the effort of beginning again. She very much wanted him to be hers.

Wrapped in this tight embrace, she only had to tilt her face slightly upward, her nose brushing his jaw, and then he only needed to angle his face just an inch and their lips would meet. 

"So this means we are going to be staying, doesn't it?"

The two of them froze, and then looked around. Eight faces were peering at them from where they were crowded in the doorway - nine including the puppy squirming in Octavia's arms.

"Yes, Clarke, you and your mother are going to stay." The children all looked very glad and began to come towards them and he quickly added: "Now go to bed."

"Not yet, come here." Abby pulled away from him and put her arms out and they all ran to her.

He sighed heavily before joining them, as if he wasn't perfectly pleased. "Never get rid of them now," he murmured.

She beamed at him. "Yes, that's the idea."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: References to historical events involving Nazi Germany. 
> 
> Not a great deal, but still there. Thought it better to warn anyone who isn't familiar with the plot/setting of the film this fic is based on.
> 
> For the record, I dialled back a lot of the Nazi stuff from the film. I didn't want to write about Nazis, no one is here to read about Nazis. But there are still references to the German annexation of Austria prior to the start of WWII, and the Nazi regime in general.

The first morning after agreeing to spend the rest of their lives together, Captain von Kane stood at the bottom of the grand staircase, waiting for his fiancée.

He found himself waiting longer than he expected. Even she had never usually been so late to come down for breakfast. He was not particularly worried she might have vanished again in the night, as he had seen Clarke already this morning and Abby would never go anywhere without her daughter. Abby was still here, in his home, where she should be. She was merely _late_.

Eventually, after all of the rest of the family were already in the dining room, settled around the table, she appeared. They smiled at each other as she descended towards him.

"Good morning," she said.

He was sure he must look foolish, smiling so much. He was sure he didn't care. "You're late, Doctor. I wanted to escort you to the table." He reached out his hand for her to take as she neared, and she placed her hand in his, gripping it warmly, although she stopped several steps up so that she was still looking down at him.

"What happened to 'Abby'?" she said.

"Oh. I... am not used to it yet."

"Well, there's time."

They smiled at each other some more. When he tugged on her hand she came down another stair.

"No one woke me up," she said. "That's why I'm late. For some reason there was no shrieking whistle outside my window this morning. You're lucky I made it down at all."

"Oh, yes, I don't take them out in the middle of winter for callisthenics."

She nodded sagely. "Hard to perform proper jumping jacks two feet deep in snow." 

"We use the ballroom, there's plenty of room."

"Oh. I would have thought I'd hear the whistle even from there."

"Well I... I suppose I have been using it... a little less of late." Self-conscious, he looked away. He still didn't altogether like admitting it, just how much he had begun to change his ways as a result of her influence. But she took the final couple of stairs down and smiled up at him so fondly it wasn't all that painful an admission. "I have found they are willing to listen all the same."

"You never needed it, they would do anything you ask. They adore you."

"Well..." He had to look away again, embarrassed but pleased. "There is still absolutely no shouting allowed in the house, of course."

"Even at their loudest, none of the children could ever make half as much noise as you do with that ridiculous whistle."

He would have had something to say to that, but at that moment his youngest daughter chose to come from the direction of the dining room and make his point for him.

"Abby!" Octavia shouted down the hall.

"Yes, darling, what is it?" Abby called back, just as loud, while he looked between them in exasperation.

"Oh no, I didn't mean you," Octavia said.

There was a clicking of tiny claws then as her puppy trotted past. With a laugh, Abby scooped the puppy up, kneeling down as Octavia came over and the two of them petted and fussed over the infernal creature. It looked sweet and helpless, and Octavia was utterly enamoured, barely allowing the thing out of her sight since Christmas day. But it was quite the terror - chewing everything, constantly yapping at nothing, and with a tendency to leave a puddle when it became overly excited.

Octavia took Abby's hand, wanting to be followed back the way she had come. "Come on, I have some sausage for her."

"Octavia, the dog is not to join us for meals. You know that. Take it back to the kitchen for Frau Sinclair to look after."

He received in reply two near-identical looks of reproach, Abby hugging her namesake protectively to her chest. He rolled his eyes, plucked the puppy from her and passed it off to Octavia.

"Go." He ushered her along with a smack on the backside.

As Octavia scampered off to obey, he put out his hand to help Abby to her feet.

Once she was standing before him he thought she might protest, and so quickly spoke. "Certain things may have changed, but this house has not and will not descend into anarchy. There are still rules that I expect to be followed." He paused, and then added for clarification: "That I expect the children to follow." 

Abby was looking up at him with an expression he couldn't decipher, making him unsure of her reaction. Although he didn't want to begin this morning with an argument, he had every intention of remaining firm on this point. Loving her had changed him, yes, but not _that_ much.

After a moment all she said was, "I missed you very much."

"Oh." 

He was completely disarmed. 

Any thought of pressing his point was forgotten as she took his arm and steered him towards the dining room.

"It must have been awkward," she said, "when Octavia wanted to name her puppy after me. You didn't know if you'd ever see me again. And you can't have been thinking too kindly of me at the time."

She was not wrong in her assumption - it had been quite awkward. While nursing his wounded feelings, and missing her, and cursing himself for his actions and cursing her for hers, to have this reminder of her continuing influence over his family and their lives was, well, _awkward_ didn't nearly cover it. 

But he didn't want to tell her this and reinforce the regretful note in her voice. It was behind them now, he wanted to enjoy what was to come. Beginning with breakfast.

He kept a light tone as he responded. "On the contrary. That dog has caused nothing but trouble since it arrived. I thought the name very fitting."

Feeling her turn narrowed eyes upon him, he smiled, and together they went in to join the rest of the family at the table.

\---

  
Over the next few days the soon-to-be-married couple began to make plans, and settled matters that needed to be settled.

Abby and Clarke moved their things from the dim little flat in town back to the villa, where they took up occupancy once again in their old rooms.

Professor Jaha was not entirely surprised that he would need to find himself a new research assistant, and Callie was sent a letter informing her that Abby and Clarke wouldn't be joining her in Bern. Both received an invitation to the wedding which were happily accepted. 

Into Clarke's care was given the silver chain that held her parents' wedding rings, that Abby had worn over her heart since Jakob's funeral, but which she was now ready to set aside. Clarke also found herself conducting a brief and slightly awkward interview with Captain von Kane. He intended to marry her mother, after all, and in this there was no one whose approval mattered more.

"I want you to marry her," she said firmly. So firmly, in fact, that it surprised him a little. "She always looks after everybody, but sometimes she needs someone to look after her, too. And besides that, I think she deserves to have someone who just really loves her very much. I know my father did. And you do, too, don't you?"

"I... yes. Very much."

"Good. Then yes, I approve. Well..." She hesitated, looking less sure. "As long as you don't mind having another daughter."

"I'm very happy about it, in fact."

"Really? You don't have enough already?"

"No, I think it's time I had at least one more." 

"At least?" Clarke said curiously.

He just smiled and kissed her head before escorting her from his study to go and join the others in the library. Abby was hovering by the door, making no pretence of nonchalance as they came in. She was quickly reassured that permission had indeed been granted.

The rest of the children were informed that there was going to be a wedding - a fact that came as little surprise to most of them by this point.

Monty, however, was driven to ask, "What does that mean?" 

"It means that Dr Griffin and I are going to be married, and then all of us will be a family." This explanation caused only more confusion for the young boy - in his mind, of course, they already had been.

"But this makes it official. And once Clarke is our real sister, then we'll have four boys and four girls, so it's even," Nathan said approvingly.

Octavia nudged Harper. "We should get another girl from somewhere so we can outnumber them."

Harper nodded in agreement, and both girls looked up at their father appealingly.

Their father looked at Abby.

Abby cast her eyes to the ceiling and muttered something about a convent being the wiser option. When he asked what she meant, he found himself laughing at the explanation - that she had once proposed taking vows as an alternative to becoming a tutor to seven children.

"You would make a terrible nun," he told her.

"So I've heard," she replied.

\---

  
Those first few jubilant days of their engagement, while Abby and Clarke were settling back at the villa and they all became accustomed to the idea that they were to be a real family, were something of an informal holiday for everyone. Soon enough, however, it was inevitably time to return to a more normal routine - and the question became what, exactly, the routine should be.

Circumstances had changed significantly since Abby was last part of the household. While she had been gone he had not made any attempt to replace her with another tutor for the children. Christmas had provided something of an excuse; the children enjoyed a long break from their studies - longer than they had ever experienced before - although 'enjoyed' was hardly the correct word for it. They had been missing their beloved tutor and her daughter, devastated by their abrupt departure. And their father, blaming himself, sought to indulge them during this time partly out of guilt. But he was devastated, too, fearing that he had driven Abby away for good, and spending time with his children, spoiling them as much as he could, helped distract him a little from his misery. 

As January began to pass he had made an attempt to supervise their studies himself, but it was half-hearted at best, knowing the arrangement could only be temporary. He was left with two options: hire a new tutor or try to get the old one back. 

Everything in him had resisted the first course of action, still clinging to the possibility that it would not be necessary. The second plan he had deferred like a coward, telling himself she would not want to see him, and if she did, she knew where to find him. Somehow he had been living with a scant sliver of hope that she would simply come back when she was ready.

Neither of them had counted on the children's intervention, although with children like theirs they probably should have.

Now everything was arranged to the satisfaction of all, and there was a momentary relief he experienced at the thought that things could now return to normal. Except that he quickly realised they could not.

Some part of him _wished_ they could - it was a wistful thought, that they could fall back into their previous routine, only with the added delight of now being able to love her openly and know she loved him in return. It was not a reasonable plan at all. 

When he asked Abby to discuss the matter with him he brought her to his study where they would be uninterrupted and it was immediately clear how different everything was now between them, and how impossible it would be to go back.

This was not Dr Griffin sitting before him. This was not the woman who, despite having come to exert great influence over the entire household in her own inimitable way, ultimately still answered to him, the man who paid her wages. She was not his employee, she was the woman he loved. She was going to be his wife. It changed everything.

While he sat behind his desk pondering the new state of their relationship, Abby sat in the chair opposite and almost immediately began fidgeting. Finally, she frowned. "I always feel as if I've been called to the headmaster's office when I'm in here." He couldn't restrain his response to that, which was a smirk. She rolled her eyes. "That's the idea, isn't it?"

"Well, I usually only have the children in here to take them to task," he reminded her. "And just how often were you called to the headmaster's office as a girl, that you're able to compare?"

"Hardly ever. I was very well-behaved at school, always first in my exams. Never got up to any mischief." He snorted. She raised her eyebrows. "And what about you?"

"Me? I would have caught hell at home if I'd been in trouble at school. So I was wise enough to avoid it."

"You always followed the rules."

"If I did not, I was also wise enough to avoid being caught."

She stood up then, and came around the desk towards him to seat herself on the desktop. She was looking down at him now as she smiled and said, "Much better."

She was not at all a tall woman; sitting on the desk her feet were free to swing back and forth, which they did in girlish fashion. He found himself watching the movement of her slender calves and ankles as they completed each arc so near to his elbow, convenient for close observation.

" _Marcus._ "

"Hm?" He looked up to find her regarding him with exasperation.

"You said you wanted to talk about the children's lessons."

"I do, yes." 

"We should really resume as soon as possible, I agree there's been too much disruption already with everything that has happened."

"You know that you don't have to do that, don't you?"

"Do what?"

"Teach them."

"What else would I do with them? You didn't use to approve of our extra-curricular activities." She said it teasingly, so he wasn't sure if she was just wilfully misunderstanding him.

"I - it isn't a matter of approving. Things are different now, I don't expect... You're not here to be their tutor, you're - you will be - their mother."

She shrugged. "I can be both. 

"You could, but I want you to understand that you don't need to work... You don't need to do anything you don't want to. As my wife -"

"You'll keep me in the lap of luxury?"

There was something in her tone that made him unsure of what his answer should be. "Yes?"

"Sounds wonderful. I suppose we'll just have to let the children play all day and never learn another thing."

"We can hire someone else to..." Her expression was so horrified he didn't finish the suggestion.

"You want to have someone else come in and teach them?"

"Not especially, no. But how we were before - you working for me, it obviously can't be like that now. And I'm not proposing any particular course of action, only that we should discuss it, because you can't -"

"But what else will I do?"

"You'll be my wife."

"Yes, I know that."

He could tell she was very near to losing her temper. They hadn't argued - really, _seriously_ argued - for a long time. He had no wish for a return of the harsh words they'd had for each other in those early days, and he certainly had no desire to displease or offend her in a way that caused her to be truly upset or hurt. 

But there had always been something undeniably compelling about being at odds with this woman. She had always challenged him, and he - who was not at all used to being challenged by anyone - had grown to love her for it.

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth set in that firm line, and she looked at him very much like she did that day, so many months ago, when she had called him an arrogant ass. She had never called him that since, but there had been occasions when he was fairly certain she was thinking it. She seemed to be thinking something akin to it now, and god help him but he was on some level enjoying it. His pulse quickened slightly in anticipation, even as he sought to understand her position.

He cleared his throat before speaking. It wouldn't do to betray any of these thoughts to her, of course. "So, you mean you want to continue teaching them as you used to. You truly enjoy it? I didn't know that. You worked to support yourself and Clarke. It isn't necessary now, but if you _want_ to do this..."

"Is that so surprising? You enjoy the work you do with the older children - if you knew about anything other than poetry and Latin you might not have ever hired a tutor for them at all."

He huffed. "Yes, but it would have been a great shame for them to miss out on their vital _tree-climbing lessons_."

Her lips twisted in amusement. "Practical application of the sciences is as important as theory alone," she said.

"So I have often been informed." They shared a smile. Her temper had subsided, and he found he was glad for it. He went on more seriously, "It isn't all kites and excursions. It's hard work, I know I could not do it all day, every day. That's why I chose to employ someone to do it for me."

She shrugged. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I know it's real work, and a big commitment. I have never been a usual sort of wife, I wouldn't know what do with myself without some sort of occupation. I've studied and worked all my life, even when Clarke was small. And I do enjoy it - I didn't know that I would enjoy teaching children. Once I got used to it I quickly realised how much it suited me. They kept me so busy I didn't have time to think about anything else; it was just what I needed."

"And now?"

"Now they need me. And you want to employ some stranger to come in and take my place!"

"No, it's merely an option."

"So is sending them to school like normal children."

He baulked at the suggestion, which she clearly had expected. "They are not normal children. They are _my_ children." He reached for her hand. "Our children. We must decide what is best for them. Discuss it together, sensibly, calmly. I believe this is how married couples go about this sort of thing, ideally?"

"You mean you don't want to just argue about it until you realise I'm right and then do things the way I suggested all along? That's how we used to go about it."

He raised his brow. "That is not exactly how I remember it. But if you'd like to argue -"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"We will sometimes no matter what we do. Discussing things like calm, sensible married people is usually the better way to go."

He suddenly felt the urge to learn more about the man who had come before him, who had helped her learn these lessons so that she could sit here now and speak to him with the voice of experience. But now was not the time to ask about Jakob Griffin. He remained silent, and brought her hand to his lips to kiss her lean, graceful fingers. 

She turned her hand to rest against his cheek, and told him very seriously: "I hate the idea of hiring someone new. No one is teaching those children but me."

"All right. If it is what you want. It will be different, though. It won't be the way it was."

"You mean because you can't tell me what to do, now. Or at least I don't have to listen."

"When did you ever listen to me?"

"Often."

"Sometimes," he agreed, "you did. We may disagree about the frequency. The rest of the time you would pretend to listen, and then proceed to do whatever you wanted regardless of my wishes."

"It's no wonder you fell in love with me."

Her answer made him laugh. Wasn't that just what he had been thinking? He had first begun to love her because she hadn't listened; because she had made _him_ listen whether he wanted to or not. 

He relaxed back in his chair with a sigh. "I had every opportunity to dismiss you, you know. And always a very logical reason not to, no matter how much aggravation you caused. I'm sure I didn't call you to task nearly as much as I should have."

"You've missed your chance to scold me. Things are different now; your wife won't put up with it."

"But you want to teach our children. Even teachers can be called to the headmaster's office."

"That sounds unpleasant. Will I have to sit on your desk and let you stare at my legs as penance?"

"Sounds only fair."

His hand shifted from where it rested on the arm of his chair, rising to brush his knuckles down the side of her leg. He was gratified to observe the slight hitch in her breathing at his touch. Her stocking was silky smooth and he could only imagine how her bare skin beneath would feel.

"We aren't married yet, you know."

He snatched his hand away, chastised.

She laughed. "Oh, that isn't what I meant. By all means." She took his hand and brought it to rest on her knee, holding it there while she explained. "I was just pointing out that we've been talking as if we're married already. We aren't, but I think once we are, we'll be very good at it."

He brushed her thumb with his, the thick twill of her skirt warm beneath his hand. "I certainly hope so," he said, wanting her to be right, but glad at least that this was something they would learn together.

\---

  
It was not a particularly long engagement. Neither wanted to delay the awaited day any further than necessary. They gave themselves a month to make the arrangements and although they were not planning an extravagant wedding there was still much to do, as there always was when two people decided to bind their separate lives into one.

Along with plans and preparations they talked about many other things in those days, for there was so much they needed to say, and a great deal they still had to discover about one another. On some evenings they sat together for hours after the rest of the household was asleep. These nights became an exercise in restraint.

It would have been all too easy to fall into bed together, but this was not the time, and he found himself enjoying the anticipation all the more with every touch of her hand, every lingering look or not-so-chaste kiss goodnight before going upstairs to sleep in their own separate rooms.

The rest of the time they never lacked for chaperones. 

He wanted to spend as much time as he could with Abby, of course. Abby, meanwhile, wanted to spend as much time as she could with the children, whom she had missed greatly - probably even more, he suspected, than she had missed him. The result was that they tended to spend a great deal of time all of them together. 

In months to come he would be very glad for these precious days learning to be a family, here in the house that they would not be able to call home for much longer.

But for now he found himself more and more looking forward to having her all to himself once they left on their honeymoon.

Certain people were much less enthused at the idea.

"Why do you have to go away?"

"What's a honeymoon for, anyway?"

"You're going to leave us for a whole month?"

"Can't we come with you?"

"I want to go to Paris, too."

They were met with a barrage of questions and appeals when they explained about their trip over dinner one night. Abby looked helplessly at him down the length of the table. Thankfully he thought she was looking forward to their time alone together as much as he was, and wasn't about to be swayed even by the dismayed little faces all around the table. He was almost certain she wouldn't suggest they take the children with them. Almost.

"But won't you miss us?" Octavia said, giving her father an accusatory look.

He went to answer but Abby jumped in quickly. "Of course he will." He coughed, raising an eyebrow. She ignored him. "He will miss you all very much, even more than he thinks he will. And so will I."

"You won't be missing us, though," he said, hoping this news would help mollify them, "you'll be enjoying your visit with your grandmother too much."

They all seemed pleased to hear Vera Kane would not only be making an appearance in Salzburg for the wedding, but that she was to stay with them for a month here at the villa while their parents were away. 

Harper, though, not to be swayed from the mythical idea of _Paris_ , offered a compromise: "Grandmother could come with us, too. She likes to travel, and she's been everywhere, so she'll know the right ship to take us there."

"Do you hear that, Marcus, we could take the children _and_ your mother along with us on our honeymoon," Abby drawled.

He couldn't appreciate the humour of the situation, too perplexed by what Harper had said. "Ship?"

"Well what if we got on the wrong one? We could end up in Australia instead."

Bellamy, smiling, informed her, "You don't need to take a ship to reach Paris, it's not that far."

"But that's what they did in the book Father read to us. They took a ship to go to Paris."

"Were they travelling from England in the book?" Bellamy said.

"Maybe, so don't we have to go there first by train?"

"You can't take a train to England, silly," Octavia said. "The mountains get in the way. You have to go around them first, to um, Spain probably."

"I thought Spain was the one next to Africa," Monty said.

"Yes, but it doesn't have mountains, just one big rock, so the trains can go through."

Monty nodded as if this made perfect sense.

Marcus was appalled at this display of ignorance from his youngest. The woman who was supposedly responsible for educating them just seemed to be amused. "What on earth have you been teaching them? They appear to know nothing about geography."

Abby shrugged. "Coincidentally, neither do I. I never claimed to have any degree of expertise in the humanities, I'm a mere scientist. Are you telling me we won't be sailing the seas to get to Paris?"

He very badly needed to kiss that infuriating smirk from her lips. As usual, they were beset on all sides by chaperones. Well, there were ways to deal with that particular obstacle. "All of you will go directly and find an atlas, and plan three different routes from Salzburg to Paris, France. Do not return until you have familiarised yourselves with a basic map of Europe."

"Does that include me?" Bellamy protested. "I know perfectly well where Paris is, and that you will take a train to get there."

"So do I," Raven quickly said, and Clarke beside her was nodding, wide-eyed.

"Then you may impart your geographical knowledge to your ignorant siblings."

The children, looking none too pleased about their impromptu assignment, began to file out, and when Abby followed he rose to catch her before she reached the door. "Where do you think you are going?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought I was in trouble, too."

"You are." Catching her by the hips he drew her closer, while she regarded him in a condemning fashion.

"Marcus, you can't just punish the children because you want a moment alone with me."

"I can. It worked perfectly well. Here we are, alone."

"Well you _shouldn't_ , it really isn't -"

He cut her off with a kiss, which she allowed to proceed for only a few seconds before pushing him away. 

"And you can't kiss me just to stop me arguing with you," she added, exasperated. 

He nodded, contrite on this point at least. "You're right, I never want you to stop arguing with me."

The admission earned him a reluctant smile. Then she put her arms around his neck and drew him back for a second, longer kiss, and he wasn't at all convinced his strategy hadn't been an excellent one.

\---

  
Although his mother's home was only a few hundred miles away in Italy, Vera von Kane chose to spend much of her time travelling and living abroad. She had not visited for several years, since before Raven's adoption, so when she arrived a few days before the wedding both Raven and Clarke met their grandmother for the first time.

And Abby, of course, met her, too.

He had smiled at first, watching them together. Abby had been nervous greeting the woman who would be her mother-in-law, anxious to make a good impression. Seeing Abby unsettled in this way, lacking her usual confidence, was a novelty that he couldn't help but enjoy. 

He wasn't worried that his mother wouldn't approve, or that she would be anything other than kind. As the two women spoke he could see Abby start to relax, put at ease by his mother's warm and friendly manner. 

It was somewhat less amusing, then. Where they had been two well-meaning strangers politely getting to know one another, they soon looked more like a pair of co-conspirators as they laughed with heads bent close together. But even then, Abby would regularly turn to address him, including him in the conversation, or just meeting his eye with a smile. 

There were certain things about their deepening relationship that were all new to him, where for Abby they were only a matter of course. She already knew what it was to be one half of a married couple, while he was only beginning to discover all that it would entail. These small gestures, such as seeking him out first in a room full of people, or absently reaching for his hand, or meeting his eye whenever she was amused in order to see if he was, too - he doubted she even noticed she was doing them half the time, but he always did, and they made him fall ever more in love with her.

He had already learned much from her, and now she was teaching him what it meant to have a wife. And there were still several days remaining until they said their vows. But then, one of the first thing he had ever discovered about her was that she never knew how to keep a schedule.

\---

  
At dinner that evening his mother, seated on his right, leaned over to tell him, "I think she's just lovely, Marcus."

He smiled, it was automatic, the way his eyes found Abby's down the length of the table for a moment before turning his attention back to his mother.

"I can tell you agree," she said. "I've never seen you look at a woman that way. I'm sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you, sweetheart." She patted his hand.

"I'm not embarrassed."

He was slightly self-conscious, which was not the same thing. And it didn't matter either way because more than anything at that moment he was content.

"I like her so much better than that Baroness," she added, causing him to choke on his schnitzel. 

He coughed and sipped from his water glass before managing to respond, in as low a voice as he could manage, "You never met the Baroness, Mother."

"No, but you mentioned her once in a letter. And when I was getting to know dear Clarke and Raven this afternoon they had many interesting things to tell me about everything that has been going on. You could write to me more often, darling, you know. But never mind, I'm glad you made the right choice."

He wanted to protest, of course, that there hadn't been a choice to make. That he had never seriously considered any woman to be the one for him until he had begun to consider Abigail Griffin.

But surrounded by eager listeners in the form of his children, and with Abby sending him curious glances from her end of the table, what he needed most was to not discuss it any further. 

"Tell us about Greece, Mother," he said.

She gave him an irritatingly knowing smile and allowed him to change the subject.

Abby waited until later that night to ask about it, when the two of them were alone in the sitting room. His mother had retired at the same hour as the children, which meant they didn't miss out on their private time together which they had both grown quickly accustomed to sharing of an evening.

"What were you talking about with your mother at dinner that made your face turn so purple?" Abby said, her shoulder leaning against his as they sat together upon the brocade sofa.

"I had trouble swallowing. And I was speaking with my mother. That was enough."

"I think your mother is lovely."

He snorted at hearing this assessment for the second time in one night. 

She sat up, frowning. "What? Does she hate me already?" She held up a hand. "Don't tell me if she does; lie to me. I couldn't bear it."

"Of course she doesn't hate you. Why would she hate you?"

"I don't always make a good first impression. I was nervous. You hated me when you met me."

"I certainly did not."

"You don't have to lie about _that_. I hated you, too."

"You hated me?" He was disturbed to hear this, while she only shrugged.

"I'm not exactly what a mother would want in a bride for her son. I'm 38, a widow with a child. And up until two months ago I was the help."

"A private tutor is not a servant."

"But I might be an ambitious upstart who seduced her son while living under his roof."

"No one who met you would think any such thing. My mother likes you, naturally. I've never met anyone who doesn't. Even Baroness Sydney liked you, even though she -" he stopped himself speaking abruptly, wondering why on Earth he would bring up Diana. 

It was his mother's fault, he decided, mentioning her to him earlier.

"The Baroness liked me?" Abby repeated incredulously. "Even though she - what?"

"It doesn't matter. I didn't mean to introduce this topic of discussion. Could we drop it?"

Of course the answer to that was no. 

"We've never talked about her," Abby said, looking almost eager to do so.

"There's no need to, there is nothing to say."

"Were you going to marry her?"

"No." Abby continued to regard him expectantly and he rolled his eyes. "I never seriously entertained the idea. Certain members of our circle might have, she might have, but I didn't - I couldn't."

"It makes sense. She's a baroness, you're a baron -"

"Baronet," he corrected her. "And I prefer titles that are earned."

"Captain suits you better, I agree."

"I was thinking of Doctor." 

She smiled slowly. He thought that was the end of it, and moved his arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to him. 

"So everyone thought you should marry her, including her, but you didn't want to. Why not? And," she added as he began to reply, "if you didn't, why did you invite her here to stay. Because I can understand why certain people, such as the Baroness herself, might have misconstrued that."

"The opinions of others were not a factor - I simply didn't have enough information. Nothing could have happened between us until I knew if... Well, that is why I invited her to stay with us. To find out."

"Find out what?"

"If the children would like her, to start with."

"But you hardly let them near her, they didn't have a chance to like her."

"Because she made it clear she was not interested in them - she might have pretended to be, for my sake, but that wasn't enough. It would never have worked." He sighed, and caught the hand that was resting on his chest in his own. "May we change the subject now? I'm sorry I ever invited her to stay. She had no place here. You do, and always did, from the moment you stepped through the door. You've no cause to be jealous."

"I'm not. I'm gaining more insight into how your mind works, it's fascinating." She let him kiss her hand, but still the infernal woman wasn't ready to let the topic rest. "Even though she what?"

"Hm?" he murmured with his lips against her wrist.

"The Baroness liked me, you said, even though she...?"

He dropped her hand with a huff. "Well she's not an unintelligent woman, I'm sure she must have known, or at least suspected, that I was attracted to you."

"Oh. Is that why you dropped her so quickly after your birthday? Because you realised that you were falling for me?"

"Yes, that, and because she kept talking about boarding schools."

It surprised a laugh from her. "Boarding school?" He nodded. "My god, that poor woman, she never stood a chance. As if you'd ever send the children away. Think of the fit you threw the first time I took them out of the house, and that was only for a few hours on a picnic."

The words lingered between them for a moment as their amusement quieted. Marcus belatedly realised what had just been revealed.

"I knew it was a picnic. What did you call it? Field research? I knew that wasn't what you were doing that day."

"Yes, darling, obviously."

"Exactly how often have you blatantly lied to me about what you were doing with my children?"

There was a long silence. Abby settled her head on his shoulder and began tracing idle circles on his chest. "I think," she said finally, "that for the sake of our relationship, it would be best not to answer that question."

He rested his chin on her hair and sighed. "Did they enjoy themselves?"

"I hope so. I know I did."

\---

  
The day before the wedding had been spent busily. There were last minute preparations to be made to ensure everyone and everything was ready for the ceremony, the afternoon reception, and for the newlyweds' departure on their honeymoon.

Thinking about all that was to happen on the morrow was slightly daunting - in a very good way. He knew the wise thing to do would be to get a full night's sleep in anticipation of what would be a very full day. Instead he found himself too restless to contemplate going to bed even as the rest of the house fell silent and the hour grew late.

He was in his bedroom, sitting in his armchair by the window, attempting to read and utterly failing at it, when there was a light tap on the door. It opened before he could say anything or move from his place, and when he saw who it was slipping in and closing the door behind her he still didn't speak or move, he was too busy staring.

It wasn't that he'd never seen her in only a nightgown before. But he had never seen her in a nightgown, in his bedroom, in the middle of the night, looking at him the way she was looking at him right now.

"I thought you might still be up," she said, leaning back against the door.

He set his book aside. He didn't get up from his chair because he wasn't sure why she was here. He suspected, but he didn't know, and until he did, he would stay where he was.

She pushed away from the door after a moment and crossed the room towards him. When she sat herself down on his lap he could only think that his suspicion was correct.

"You couldn't wait one more night?" he said, finally finding his voice.

"Wait for what? Why exactly do you think I'm here?" 

He was far too enamoured of having her in his arms to properly judge exactly how teasingly she said it.

Smiling smugly, as if she knew exactly how she was clouding his usually perfectly rational way of thinking, she turned slightly so she could lean back against his chest, taking his hands to bring his arms more securely - and consequently rather more chastely - around her.

"I just... missed you. I'm used to seeing you before bed."

"Oh." So she wasn't here to seduce him? "Well, I'm glad you didn't stand on convention."

"Mm," she agreed. "This is much better."

"Although you know it's bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding."

"You're marrying the least superstitious woman in the world. If you want to get rid of me, you'll have to do better than that."

"Get rid of you? After waiting to get you back? I don't think I'll ever be able to let you go again."

"Please don't," she whispered. 

His arms tightened around her possessively. In reply he couldn't manage more than a rough, "I won't."

She reached back, her small hand gently stroking the side of his face. "Then I suppose I'll be spending the night with you after all."

He chuckled into her hair. "Don't tempt me."

It seemed only fitting that she defied him in this as in every other command he had ever given her. 

When she turned and pressed her lips to his, he was indeed sorely tempted.

"Abby," he attempted to produce a chastising tone between kisses, "we will be married in less than twelve hours."

"I know, I'm so pleased."

"Why did we bother to wait at all if only to -"

"I don't know, why _did_ we wait?"

"Don't make me get my whistle."

This empty threat somehow managed to give her pause. Her lips froze against his, and then she drew back to look at him. Then she laughed.

"What is it?" He frowned slightly. "You may think you have me wrapped around your little finger, but I -"

"That's not why I'm laughing. You still haven't noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"You really don't know."

"What -"

"I took it the very next morning."

"Abby."

"After Clarke and I came home. It's been weeks, and you haven't noticed."

"Abby, where is my whistle?"

"And it's been so much quieter around here."

"It's in the river, isn't it?"

"No. I put it somewhere for safekeeping."

"Where?"

"Do you really want to know? I don't think you even miss it. All right, I gave it to the Emperor."

"The _frog_ has it?"

"It made the children laugh."

"Well. That does it. I'm afraid, Dr Griffin, that I have no choice but to dismiss you at once."

"You're sacking me?" 

"Yes." He slid a hand under her knees and in one smooth motion he stood up with her in his arms. 

He had a decision to make then. 

The correct thing to do would be to take her to the door and deposit her out in the hall and kiss her goodnight. 

What he _wanted_ to do was to carry her over to the bed and begin their married life together - albeit slightly preliminary to the actual marriage. He wanted this very badly indeed.

"It was inevitable, really," Abby was saying, seeming perfectly content in his arms as this dilemma ran through his head.

"Yes, I think it always was," he replied, and made his decision.

When he carried her over the threshold and set her down on her feet just outside his bedroom she didn't seem in the least surprised. With her hands resting on his shoulders she looked up at him smiling as if she had known this was exactly what he would do. 

For his part, he had not been nearly so sure.

"We should say goodnight," he said.

She nodded, but then her expression became serious. "I didn't come to your room just to visit. I wanted to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything."

"It isn't anything bad." She lifted her hand to smooth what must have been concerned lines from his forehead. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't afraid I might not be here in the morning. If you thought I might leave again - I won't. I promise."

"I didn't think -"

"I wouldn't blame you if the thought crossed your mind. I just didn't want you to go to sleep with the slightest of worries. I will be there to meet you at the church tomorrow, Marcus. I love you, and I'm going to marry you."

"I know. I promise, it didn't occur to me to think otherwise." He took her hand where it lay against his cheek and kissed it. She still seemed uncertain, so he hastened to reassure her. "When you left the way you did, I didn't understand why. I thought you weren't ready to love me. I understand better now - I see that you already loved me, but you didn't think you should be loved in return. So I'm not afraid you will leave me again, because you have been quite happy for me to love you since you returned, haven't you?"

"Very happy."

"That's why I have no doubt that you will be at the church tomorrow. My only true worry was that you would be late."

A small smile appeared. "Well, now I didn't say I would arrive on time."

"Please try," he said with great solemnity. "Just this once."

"All right."

"I love you. And I know that you love me."

She nodded, and lifted up on her toes, her hands resting gently on his face as she drew him down for a kiss. Her lips pressed warmly to his threatened to revive that desire in him once more. Only one more night, he reminded himself, breaking from the kiss to rest his forehead against hers.

"You realise this is the very last time you'll ever have to kiss me goodnight in the hallway," she said, her thoughts apparently travelling the same direction as his.

A fact which did little for his composure.

"Go to bed, Dr Griffin."

She didn't, of course, staying right where she was, with her fingers toying distractingly with the hair at the back of his neck. "And you're never going to be able to say that to me again."

"No. It will be 'come to bed, Abby'."

She stared at him for a moment, as a telling flush coloured her cheeks. Her head fell forward to rest on his shoulder. "I am never going to get any sleep tonight," she murmured, and then turned her face into his neck where she began pressing soft kisses under his jaw. 

In the next moment irresistibly their mouths found each other again and soon they were as caught up in their passion for each other as they had ever been. All of his practical concerns and chivalrous intentions were set aside as he caught her up tightly against him and devoured her lips with his, abandoning them only to cover the graceful line of her throat in equally hungry kisses.

The sound of a door opening down the corridor caused them to spring hastily apart. He looked around, rather mortified, to see who had caught them locked in a heated embrace outside his bedroom door in the middle of the night.

Fortune was with them because it was only Monty who came out, rubbing his eyes and clearly still half-asleep as he tottered straight across the hall into the bathroom without even noticing them.

The door closing, followed inevitably by the sound of the boy making use of the lavatory, very effectively spoiled the mood. 

Abby looked at him and laughed. 

The very first time he had ever seen her she was laughing. It was the perfect end to his last night as a bachelor.

\---

  
Abby was not _precisely_ on time to marry him.

The ceremony began perhaps three or four minutes past the appointed hour, which was so very nearly on time as to be almost not worth mentioning. And since he was then far more concerned with the business of marrying the woman he loved, it never once for all the rest of his days occurred to him to mention it at all.

Indeed, what he would remember most about his wedding was how radiantly lovely Abby looked as she came down the aisle to take her place, from that day forward, at his side. And how such an incredible feeling of pride, and gratitude, and contentment filled him when she said _I will_ , and he slid the ring onto her finger. He was quite overwhelmed with love for her, and the ceremony itself was something of a blur. But at the end of it all she was his, and he was hers, and that was the only thing that truly mattered.

The reception held at the villa was small and intimate, and was all the more enjoyable for it. The afternoon passed in a happy haze until the newly wedded couple were ready to leave, at which point emotions became somewhat mixed.

Abby's tears began the moment she put her arms around Clarke, and did not abate as she went on to hug and kiss each of the other children in turn. Finally in the car she sat sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief for some time after the tall black gates had receded into the distance behind them.

"Don't look at me like that," she said.

"I am looking at you with nothing but love." Abby snorted, and he caught Sinclair, who was chauffeuring them to the train station, also looking amused. He had only spoken the truth, however it was perceived by others could not be helped. "We'll only ever have one honeymoon after all, please do cry as much as you want." 

To prove he wasn't quite as horrible a husband as all that, he held out his arm for her to shift across the seat closer to his side, and handed her his handkerchief for good measure. 

"I've never been away from Clarke for more than a night since she was born. That's what set me off. And now there's so many of them to miss... I'm telling you, Marcus, you will miss them, too."

He knew that he would - though perhaps not to the point of weeping over it. He had only rarely spent time away from his children, either, over the years.

"It will be strange," he admitted. "An entire month away, not having them always underfoot. But I imagine we will find some way to cope."

"Oh, probably," she conceded with a wry twist of her mouth.

By the time they boarded the train all trace of tears had vanished. Parting from the children had been difficult, but now anticipation for their trip, and for the time they would be spending together, supplanted all else.

They had not wanted to spend their wedding night on a train, and so the first leg of their journey was to be brief. From Salzburg it was only a few hours west to Innsbruck, where they planned to transfer from the station in the evening to a nearby hotel for their first night as man and wife, before travelling on towards Paris the following day.

 _Anticipation_ was certainly the word of the hour. The train had not even left the station, they were barely settled in their compartment, the sliding door only just pulled shut, and before they even took their seats it was first necessary to be immediately wrapped in each other's arms.

"This is the first time we've been alone all day," Abby breathed, leaning up on her toes.

"I know. I haven't even kissed you properly yet."

"You kissed me at the church. That was perfectly proper."

"Too proper," he agreed, and proceeded to show her just how _im_ properly he intended to kiss her now that there was no more reason to hold back.

He would have been happy to continue the demonstration for an age, but managed only the few minutes until the train began to move with a jolt, causing them to finally take their seats on the cushioned bench. Hearing compartment doors sliding open and shut further along the carriage, and the sound of the porter greeting passengers and requesting tickets, they did not resume the embrace, much as they would have liked. 

Instead they settled comfortably close, watching out the window as Salzburg was left behind and the rising green hills of the countryside began to pass by. 

"I'm going to fall asleep," Abby said. Her head was already resting on his shoulder. 

"It's two hours till Innsbruck. Go ahead, it's been a long day."

"Mm," she murmured. "And I barely got a wink of sleep last night, which was all your fault."

He looked down to find a hint of a smirk, even with her eyes innocently closed.

"Abby," he said warningly.

Her hand began to shift back and forth across his chest, pausing to toy with a shirt button in deceptively idle fashion. "What about you? Could you sleep?"

"We have two hours until..."

"Until we get to the hotel. Yes. You don't need to remind me. I can think of nothing else."

He sighed. "Nor can I."

Looking down at her then he found her eyes open and alert, the quirk of her lips widening into a smile that dared him to kiss it away.

Two hours, alone in their first-class compartment, the blinds on the door's window panes already pulled down for privacy. Two hours alone with his new bride. At least there was no chance of them growing bored.

\---

  
They had married just as winter drew to a close. Marcus had been glad that in the course of their full month's honeymoon he would be able to show Abby Paris in the spring. They had not been there a full two weeks, however, when news reached them of what had happened in their home country while the two of them were basking in the idyllic early days of their marriage.

Germany had annexed Austria, in what was touted as a peaceful process of unification. Yet even now military forces were marching through the streets of Salzburg. A peaceful invasion. As if there could be any such thing. 

The newlyweds packed their things and were on the next train that would take them in the direction of home.

It was a very different trip returning than when they had departed, being solemn and fraught with worry. They didn't speak much of their concerns along the way, united in their determination to complete the journey as quickly as possible. 

"I'm so glad we're nearly home," Abby said while in the back of the taxi moving through the streets of Salzburg. 

"What sort of home have we returned to?" 

The change in the city was as bad as he had feared; men in uniform on every corner, and that flag, that damned flag of the Third Reich, hung over every doorway.

"I just want to see them." She squeezed his hand, lying between them on the seat. "I know they're perfectly all right, I just -"

"I know. We'll feel better once we're home with them. You were right, you know, I've missed them terribly."

The confession was meant to make her smile, and she did, though her eyes remained troubled.

It was a great relief to finally drive through the gates. He was just paying the driver after helping him unload their luggage when the front door was flung open and soon they were surrounded. In spite of everything the reunion was a happy one. They did their best to hug and kiss everyone, while the children did their best to talk over the top of each other and pepper them with questions. All the while Octavia's puppy danced excitably in and around their feet, not at all helping the process.

His mother and Frau Sinclair had followed the children at a more sedate pace to join in welcoming them home. 

"Thank goodness you're back," his mother said as she put her arms around him.

"We came as soon as we heard."

Raven appeared at his side next. "Father, I have to tell you, Finn came to see me yesterday."

"The telegram boy? Why was he here?"

"He brought a telegram for you. I told him you were on your honeymoon and weren't coming home for another two weeks but he just said I should give it to you as soon as you got back. And he wanted me to salute him. Like _they_ do. I told him to get lost." She crossed her arms. "Well, he was rude. I put it on your desk, the telegram. He... said it was from Berlin."

The look she gave him was anxious, seeking reassurance. He attempted to school his features, not to worry her or the others more than they were already - it was clear the older ones at least understood something of what was going on outside the walls of the estate. 

His eyes found Abby's, and after a moment of silent communication she took charge.

"We have presents for you all!" she announced, arms outstretched as she began to herd everyone back inside. "Boys, will you help with the luggage? If you take the grey case into the sitting room - I think that's where I packed them. You're lucky we found some time for shopping before we had to come home."

"It's good to have you back, Dr Griffin - I'm sorry, Dr Kane," Frau Sinclair said, greeting the procession at the door. "I'll bring some refreshments to the sitting room. Coffee?"

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully, "coffee sounds perfect."

"Abby, did you see the Eiffel Tower?" Harper said.

"Did you climb to the top?" Nathan added, Abby's small valise clutched to his chest.

"I'll tell you all about it inside, go on."

With everyone successfully distracted for the moment she waited for him in the doorway.

"Marcus." 

She would have said more but fell silent as he kissed her temple and ushered her over the threshold. "They're waiting for you. Remind them to call you 'Mother'."

"Only if they want to." She hesitated while he shut the door. 

"I'll come and tell you once I know what the message is."

Reluctant and worried, she nodded, and they parted. He went directly to his study, shutting the door. 

He found the telegram under a paper weight.

He was not expecting to be receiving any good news from Berlin. After reading the message he sat silently for a few minutes. He used the time to compose himself, to consider his options, and to remind himself of what was at stake.

So much had changed for him already in the time since Abigail Griffin had presented herself on his doorstep. His whole life had changed, his family had changed. He had been changing all this while, and knew he was a better man for all that he had become with the benefit of her presence in his life. 

Now with this telegram everything would change once again.

He had been existing in a state of denial, that it should happen here in Austria. _His_ Austria. He had not wanted to believe it could ever be so, had refuted the many signs along the way that indicated that it _would_ be so with or without his acceptance of things. Now he found himself in an Austria that was no longer his, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

Solitude was no remedy. He pushed himself up to stand, then went to find Abby because he could not delay telling her. And because he needed her.

In the sitting room the children were occupied with their new toys, books, and souvenir trinkets. Abby was not with them. His mother looked as if she wanted to ask what was wrong, but only told him his wife had left the room with Raven, who had seemed upset about something.

He found them outside on the terrace, seated on a bench side by side, their backs to the house as they looked out over the gardens. Raven was toying with the walking stick propped against her knees, as she tended to do when she was uneasy. Abby's arm was around Raven, gently rubbing her back. 

He didn't want to disturb what was clearly a private moment between mother and daughter, but the news couldn't wait.

"Remember when I thought he liked Clarke better than me?" Raven was saying as he approached. "It felt like the world was ending. But now I don't think he cares for anything except his new uniform, and his horrible cause. That should be worse, shouldn't it? Except it doesn't feel that way - when I saw him this time it didn't feel like the world was ending, it just seemed sad."

"It's because you're learning to let go of him. He doesn't have such a hold on you, so the things he says and does can't hurt you as much. It will be sad for a while, but one day, I promise, it will be like the sun has come out." Abby looked over at him then, meeting his eyes with a smile as she continued, "You might even find you can fall in love again."

Raven seemed to understand as she looked back and forth between them, leaning her head closer to Abby's to whisper, "Is that what it was like with him?"

Abby smiled her crooked smile, hugging the girl to her. "A little bit like that, yes."

His growing understanding of what they were discussing did not make him any more desirous to intrude on their tete-a-tete, but with his arrival it was already over. They both stood and moved towards him.

"Are you all right, Raven?" he asked. She nodded, giving him a brave smile. He held her shoulders for a moment, leaning down to kiss her forehead. He didn't want to ask who had broken her heart, fearing he already knew. "Go inside and join the others, I need to speak to your mother."

"All right." She was halfway to the door when she turned back suddenly. "Father? It was Finn, the messenger, he was my boyfriend. I used to sneak out of the house at night to meet him, and I lied to you about it all the time. That was wrong of me. I just - we cared about each other, and I didn't want to... give that up. It seemed worth the risk. But now I think he never really cared about me the way I did about him."

There were many things it occurred to him to say to her confession, chiefly that she was too young to have such troubles. _Far_ too young to have a boyfriend, and if he had known about what was going on? He would have kept her from all of this pain if he could.

There was only one thing, at this moment, he could say. "I'm sorry."

Her face crumpled for a moment and he moved towards her but she recovered almost instantly. "I'm all right, don't worry about me. Don't we all have more important things to worry about?" Turning with the help of her cane she continued on to the door, pausing only to toss over her shoulder, "So as long as I'm not in trouble..." 

He waved her on with a stern look that only made her impish grin widen. He felt Abby come to stand beside him.

"She's far too young for boys," he said with a frown.

"Girls tend to decide that sort of thing for themselves, I'm afraid."

"How long did you know about it?"

"Marcus." She took hold of his hand, her eyes searching his. "What's wrong?"

His concern for his daughter had held off the inevitable for a moment, but now the full weight of it bore down on him. He took from his pocket the telegram he had received.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Berlin. They've offered me a commission in their Navy. I've been _requested_ to accept immediately and report to their base at Bremerhaven."

She didn't look surprised, only increasingly grim. She had been expecting something like this. "What are you going to do?"

"What do you think I should do?"

"You can't accept. Fight a war you don't believe in for a country you oppose?"

"If it kept you and the children safe?"

"Do you think anyone will truly be safe now?"

"No. And if there is war -"

"It's almost certain, isn't it? And you would have to fight for them, at what cost? Your life, or only your soul?" She snatched the telegram from his hand suddenly and tore it in two, crumpling the pieces in her fist. "You're not joining them."

Her ferocity brought forth a wan smile. "No. It would be unthinkable. But refusing them puts us all in danger."

"Then what can we do?"

He knew very well what they would have to do - there was only one option for them, now. "We leave. We've got to get out of Austria, as soon as possible."

He thought she had already known this would be his answer but it wasn't until he said the words that her face fell.

"I'm sorry. This isn't how I wanted us to begin our life together."

"We were going to be so happy here. I was so looking forward to having this be home for a very long time." When she saw his stricken expression she put her hand on his cheek. "Oh, it's all right. It's a beautiful house, but it's just a house. We'll find another."

"I promise you we'll be just as happy no matter where we end up."

She smiled then. "Any ideas?"

"For now, we'll go with my mother back to Bologna. There should be no trouble at the border, I have an Italian passport, they can't deny my passage."

"You do?"

"I was born there, I told you my mother's family is Italian."

"Oh yes, I know. It's where you got that romantic, brooding stare. Did I ever tell you my first love was Rudolph Valentino?"

"You have mentioned it. Abby -"

"Well you _do_ look like him, Marcus, it's not just wishful thinking. It will be nice to see where your family is from, and we'll get to spend more time with your mother. I didn't think I'd be back on a train again so soon but I rather enjoy travelling."

"Abby." He halted her distracted rambling by pulling her into his arms. "We'll be all right."

"Of course we will." She sighed and after a moment allowed herself to relax, leaning her head against his chest. "What do we tell them?"

"Nothing that will make them worry. We'll pack as if we're going on a normal holiday - we don't want to draw attention to ourselves. The less the children know the better."

"Bellamy will figure it out straight away. Clarke, too, probably, she knows me too well not to realise there's something wrong. And Raven's too clever and John always sees what you don't want him to." She drew back to look at him. "We should tell them. All of them. They should know when we leave this house that we won't be coming back for a long time. If ever."

She was right, of course. He wanted to protect them, but there was only so far he could protect them from the truth of the situation. After a moment he nodded his agreement. 

"As long as we're all together, they will be fine," she said.

He was so thankful that she was with him. He was so glad that he wouldn't have to do this alone. 

He cradled her face in his hands, letting the strength in her steady gaze shore up his own, before leaning down to lose himself for a few precious moments in the comforting warmth of her kiss.

\---

  
He shook Sinclair's hand in farewell. There was nothing more to say other than, "Good luck."

"And to all of you, Sir," he replied, looking around at the group once more before stepping back. He was stayed only by Raven who came to throw her arms around the man's neck. He seemed surprised by the show of affection from the girl, but hugged her back. She had always been fond of the groundskeeper, and he of her. After releasing her, with a final nod, he climbed back into the car and was soon away. 

Sinclair would return to the villa one last time, to collect his wife, before the faithful pair who had served the Kane family all these years made their own way, god willing, out of the country via the Swiss border. 

With Raven ashen at his side, he turned to his family assembled at the base of the wide stairs leading up to the train station entrance. They did not have a great amount of luggage with them; they did not want to draw attention to themselves by carrying more than might be required by a large family on vacation, and did not have the time to pack extensively, besides.

The suitcases and trunks they did have were filled with items too precious to leave behind - photographs, documents, treasured keepsakes, favourite books or toys - and only the bare minimum of clothing and things of a practical nature which might be easily replaced. Even so, it was an impossible task to bring everything of value, sentimental or otherwise. Much was left behind that would be missed.

Octavia had come back to the house this morning in tears after Abby and Bellamy had taken her down to the water's edge to farewell her first and most treasured reptilian pet. She was silent and stoic now, even as she carefully kept hold of the leash, and the excitable pup straining at the end of it. The collection of smaller creatures inhabiting the schoolroom were too impractical to travel with them and had all been released, but the dog, at least, could be accommodated without too much trouble. At least he didn't have to break his youngest daughter's heart entirely in the space of one day. At least there was that.

It was Raven who moved first. "Well?" she said, bending to take her suitcase and heft it at her side. 

"I _could_ help," John said, eyeing her slightly off-centre stance. "But I'm not even going to offer."

"Who wants you to?" She limped gamely towards the stairs, and made her way slowly but surely up them. 

After a glance at her mother, Clarke grabbed for her own belongings and hurried up the steps to walk beside Raven. The rest of the family moved to follow their lead.

The day the Kane family left Salzburg, the Nazi flag hung from every post, adorning every building. For Marcus von Kane, proud Austrian and war hero who had loved and fought for his country in years past, it was almost a blessing to leave it behind. His homeland had changed, becoming a place he no longer recognised. At least he would no longer have to watch it happen. 

As he saw his mother, and the children, and the dog, into their carriage, and took one last look around the platform to ensure nothing had been left behind, he felt Abby take his arm. She gave him a reassuring smile. 

"I don't think I mentioned this before, but I did, briefly, consider fleeing the country, back when I was determined to avoid being in love with you."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"So am I. Much better facing that kind of adventure together."

He smiled. "Together."

Together, her arm in his, was how they boarded the train, and as they pulled away from the station he was without regret. Everything in the world that was of value to him was coming with him. Whatever else remained of his life in Austria he would leave there, and try not to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a short epilogue posted soon, but otherwise this is more or less the end of the story. I hope you've enjoyed it! A few things:
> 
> 1\. I'm not saying they did it for the first time in that train compartment only minutes into their honeymoon trip. But like. I'm not _not_ saying it, either.
> 
> 2\. Apologies to anyone expecting a more dramatic ending with kabby and the kids being hunted by Nazis in a cemetery. I decided to borrow from the experiences of the real life Trapp family instead of the more sensational version of events in the film. (IRL, Georg Trapp held dual-citizenship and actually had no trouble leaving Austria with his family.) This allowed me to focus more on the characters and their feelings, and as little as possible on the Nazis. 
> 
> 3\. I really can't thank enough everyone who has been reading and supporting this fic with comments and kudos and messages - I appreciate it so much. You are all amazing. Thank you!


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